There's Nothing like a Trail of Blood
by Sunrain
Summary: Post RE5. Wesker may be gone, but he's not dead. And he's no longer the biggest threat around.
1. Prologue: Loss

**AN: I'm positive most of you, heck all of you know where this is from. But I just saw the ending for RE5 recently, and let me tell you, I was shocked. Okay, well duh, seeing as how I don't play the games, but watched tidbits of other people playing them (I'm horrible at videogames and always feel guilty when my character dies). Anyway, I am reminded again of why I heart RE. To make an AN short, (too late ****) I did this in order to give me some sense of where Chris is mentally and emotionally, and thought, why not make this a prologue and see how people like it?**

**More AN: There will be slash, folks. Not right away, but there will be, so if you have anything against it, I bid you good day. **

**Disclaimer: (sigh) I do not own RE or any of its awesome characters. I cannot do the creators justice, but hell, watch me try!**

**There's Nothing like A Trail of Blood**

**Prologue: Loss**

Liquid heat.

Dry unbreathable air.

In the moments Chris used to scramble up the ladder to follow Sheva into the helicopter, all he could think about was the heat coming from the volcano below. Not about Wesker. He was dead…probably. There was no way he would be able to survive all that lava, and even a self-proclaimed god wouldn't be able to ignore the power of molten rocks. But when the Redfield was finally inside the much cooler interior of the aircraft, for a split second he remembered what he had seen.

Wesker. Tentacles surrounding him, eyes flashing crimson in the battlefield of hell and burning rock…Wesker. He had fallen in the lava. He had been in pain, pain…he was now…

At that moment black tentacles burst out of the sea of fire and latched onto the rails of the helicopter, curling around the metal like an anchor. There was no thinking, only reacting as Jill told Sheva about the RPGs, and Sheva handed him one, the metal feeling heavy and cool, weighing Chris down in all the chaos.

Chris saw the shock on Wesker's face just as the jade green of the RPG heads slammed into him, exploding into a curtain of lava that veiled whatever the weapons did to the blonde man from view.

There was no final glimpse after that.

All Chris could think after that was… that it was all over. And another curtain fell over, this time over Chris, a shadowy black one that kept him from feeling anything at all, except a sense of weariness and maybe some relief.

_Hours Later..._

The metal propellers glinted with the reflection of the setting sun's dying rays.

Inside, silence reigned.

_Clear sharp blue…outside.  
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_Clear sharp grey.  
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_Clear sharp crimson, smoldering like embers ablaze with a shock so real that in that moment Chris Redfield knew with a cold certainty that when his former S.T.A.R.S. captain plummeted to the hell that awaited him in the volcano below, a part of Chris shattered, and cracked fragments fell along with the man that had destroyed everything…  
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_Countless lives…  
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_Chris…and any chance of life after the end…  
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_It was all over._ Chris snapped to attention to his quiet companions inside the helicopter. How long has it been, a couple of hours maybe? Why did he feel as if it just happened seconds ago? Why did he feel this heavy feeling of—

Wait, feelings?

Feelings?

How are you _supposed_ to feel when you see the person you hate with every ounce of your _being_, the person you dedicated every drop of sweat, blood and sanity to in order to rid the world of his _presence_, finally killed?

How are you supposed to feel when you see the person you most _admired_, the person you dedicated every drop of sweat, blood and sanity to in order to earn his _respect_, see some sort of emotion flickering behind those damn sunglasses, die by _your_ hand?

What are you supposed to feel when that person's gone?

Maybe, Chris thought and settled his gaze on the metal floor in front of him, just above the reach of his boots, maybe…in the end…he wasn't supposed to feel anything at all.

Not if he wanted to stay sane.

Not if he wanted to _survive _after all of this.

At that moment, the surviving member of the previous game with Albert Wesker chose the option that any one who wanted to fall to pieces privately would choose.

Smoke trailed up into the clear sharp blue behind Chris Redfield and his companions…

An era of fear was soon to be extinguished…

But the caw of a black bird circling lazily above the humans struggling to stitch their lives back together brushed them with reality, for an era had ended, soon to be replaced with another.

Only a fool would believe that the world was at peace at last.

**A/N: Whew! Well, there you have it folks. I hope you enjoyed it and I look forward to any comments and feedback, this being my first fanfic and all. That being said, I'll update as soon as I can! **


	2. Chapter 1: On the Horizon

**AN: **** (screaming like little girl while jumping up and down and twirling)**** I cannot believe the number of reviews and story alerts I've gotten from just one chapter! Thank you so, so much! You're all too kind and it does this scared brainless writer good to know that somewhere, over the rainbow, people like this fanfic.**

**More AN: (now cowering in corner nursing a cup of coffee) That being said, so sorry for the very late update. Believe it or not I placed school (face palm followed by slap) in front of this because really, I can't afford to screw this year up…**

**(Wesker staring unblinkingly at writer) Sigh…and the last couple of weeks have been very difficult, especially the one before spring break (which already ended). In a way, I can feel a little what Chris is feeling…seriously, when the past comes to haunt you, it really won't let go… So here's the next chap, people.**

**Warning: Not too exciting, but I promise it is necessary.**

**Disclaimer: (sniffle) I have not, do not, and shall never own Resident Evil or its characters.**

**Chapter 1**

**On the Horizon**

_Drip, drip, drip_.

The drops of water from the damaged sink were the only sound within the cell. They echoed throughout the small space, irritating its sole occupant in the lower level of the steel framed bunk bed. 

_Drip, drip.  
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Grey eyes opened, full of frustration at the incessant noise that refused to let him sleep. And at this point, sleeping was the only thing he _could _do, at least until his full strength returned or another variable was added to this stupidly simple (but with his diminished strength, now complex) equation. 

Boredom was his companion, grudgingly accepted over another…feeling.

And it would be the only _human _sentiment the prisoner would allow. 

For now. 

Feeling satisfaction at the sight of his captors' bloody corpses after hours of torture was a concession he was willing to make.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*RE*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Drip.  
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The bead of sweat rolled off the tip of a strand of dark brown hair and plopped down on the clenched fist resting on a bare knee. 

For a moment, silence reigned in the dark room, except for his ragged breathing. 

"God." Chris Redfield sighed heavily and leaned his head forward, shutting his eyes to shake off the latest nightmare. 

Ever since he had returned from Africa it had been one nightmare after the other, night after night. At first the dreams were typical scenes full of the undead surrounding him, tearing him to bloody pieces until all he saw was a haze of red. 

Other times, Chris found himself frozen to the ground, helplessly watching as first Sheva then Jill were consumed by the dead, their dying screams, outstretched arms begging for him to save them haunting him even in the moments when he was awake. 

_It's not real, it's not real. _Chris tried to reassure himself. But the look in their eyes, fear, panic, pain, so much of it… 

_Wesker must have felt a lot of it when the lava got him. _Chris's mind whispered, and the brunette shuddered and raised his head to concentrate on the rustling curtains shielding him from any view of the dark silent world outside. 

_Wesker's dead. _Chris thought firmly, but felt the strange feeling inside of him grow heavier, the same feeling he had sensed on that day but routinely suppressed. He felt nothing about the death of that man, felt nothing about his former S.T.A.R.S captain and the man who he had once trus- 

"What time is it?" Chris wondered aloud and glanced at the digital clock next to the bed, sighing again when he noted that it was four a.m. 

"At least it's Monday." Chris muttered, unsurprised at his relief at the usually detested day of the week. Mondays had become something of a salvation for him actually, allowing Chris to focus on his job as a security guard at a local hospital and wipe any thoughts about anything other than the task at hand out of his mind. 

But the end of the weekend had been a particularly rough one for Chris, and the young man felt the need to gather his strength to shove away any strong emotions deep within the recesses of his mind, preferably into an eternal abyss where the light of day would never reach.

Talking to himself was of course, part of the package. 

The Monday pre work ritual usually took about ten minutes, not including the time from the aftermath of a nightmare, but today Chris decided to add another fifteen minutes. 

_He had screwed up again.  
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_It didn't matter how hard he tried to stay together, they always saw in the end how…how defeated he was, sensed how-how broken he felt. And empty, so damn empty on an almost daily basis.  
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_Jill and Claire had invited him for a night at the movies and despite his internal cringing at the thought of being out in public and having to pretend to enjoy some third rate movie that wasn't worth half the money spent on tickets, Chris had reluctantly agreed.  
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_It was a big mistake.  
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"_Chris, what's wrong?" Claire had asked, concern written all over her face when she saw Chris suddenly bolt out of the darkened movie theatre.  
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_Jill had motioned for her to stay behind while she went to talk to her partner in the men's bathroom, ignoring the raised eyebrows and amused grins of the men inside. She found Chris gripping the sides of a sink tightly, staring emptily at the basin and breathing quickly, as if he had been running for minutes, not seconds.  
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"_Chris?' Chris heard the worry in Jill's soft voice, and god…the only thing he wanted to do was turn to her and collapse into sobs, find comfort in the person who had been through everything with him.  
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_But he couldn't. Not when part of the problem was related to who had captured Jill and controlled her, made her suffer and commit acts she would never have consented to in a hundred years.  
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_No…he had no right to lean on her, to ask for comfort. Not when he wanted what was gone, felt shattered and empty for the wrong reasons.  
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_What the hell was wrong with him?  
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_Jill was okay, and had suffered a hell of a lot more than he had. Why could she move on when he could barely hold on?  
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"_Hey." Jill put a petite hand on his shoulder and Chris swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the touch. _

_He didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve this. Not after everything they had been put through.  
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"_I'm fine." Chris said, shrugging off his friend's hand. He didn't miss the half worried, half hurt look that flashed across her face but didn't respond, instead he turned on the water faucet and began to wash his hands._

_In the back of his mind however, a little voice mocked him for thinking that washing his hands would absolve him of his sin, of his disease that had him longing for what the whole world had condemned as evil.  
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"_Okay." Jill caught Chris's weary blue eyes in the mirror when he remembered that she was still there, and smiled at him in understanding, before turning away.  
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"_If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you, Chris." She told him and Chris closed his eyes to shut out those horrible words of kindness.  
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"_I still have nightmares too." Jill added and left the restroom, leaving Chris feeling all the more guiltier for wishing that some of those nightmares could come back.  
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"_I'm sorry." Chris murmured in the now emptied restroom, realizing that he would never take Jill up on the offer, or his sister's when she offered.  
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"_I have to do this alone." And with that, Chris walked out of the restroom, out of the movie theatre, and out of reach from Jill and Claire, and anyone ever connected to what had happened then.  
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It had proven to be too difficult in the end. If Chris really tried, he could barely make it through a phone conversation with people he knew since back then, and in person? Almost impossible. 

That was what Jill and Claire had come to realize and while Jill had backed away and had understood, his baby sister had been furious and would have stormed over to his apartment if she had known where he lived. 

But no one did. 

"Time's up." Chris sighed, reading the bedside clock. 

He rose up slowly from his bed and grimly began to get ready for work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*RE*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Garden Grove Hospital. 

It was a well known and often used place where Chris spent the majority of his time at. 

The tall grey building opened its sliding doors to let in the stream of patients, doctors, nurses and interns in as usual, while Chris watched from his spot right next to said doors. 

Now and then, the brunette in his black uniform would stroll around the entrance, only grazing the parking lot, shying away as soon as he saw a group of people approaching. 

The sky overhead was white grey and something in Chris's chest tightened at seeing the uninterrupted smoothness of grey. The air was slightly chilly since it was still early, but Chris welcomed the cold for it numbed him, and after his morning's dwelling on the horrible weekend, he really didn't want to feel anything. 

He never really did anyway, since Africa. 

"Morning Chris." A young woman greeted, slowing down in her nurse's uniform and stepping out from the stream of people entering the double sliding doors.

"Morning Jean." Chris offered a polite smile, too tired to really attempt some conversation. He hoped his downcast mood would somehow escape Jean's attention and made sure to keep his gaunt shadowed face away from the nurse. 

The dark haired woman noticed though, and lightly touched his arm in concern, caramel eyes noting the quick movement from the brunette to escape her gaze. 

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice softening. "You look more tired than usual." She pulled Chris against the wall next to the entrance and they both reclined against it side by side so Chris could continue to watch the morning crowd of doctors, interns, and nurses. Jean however, kept her caramel gaze on the young man she had befriended on the day he first began working here. There was something infinitely sad about Chris Redfield, she realized, but never pried, knowing from experience the need to privately mourn whatever, or whoever (she strongly suspected) was lost. 

Chris kept his eyes on the rush of people making their way into the hospital, feeling the weight of his friend's gaze on him. He wondered how he would get her off his back without being rude, seeing as she was only worried about him. But she couldn't help him, could she? She wouldn't understand how messed up he was, or anything that he had been involved with in the past couple of years, unlike his other friends and sister. But they would know enough, too much in fact, and would judge him and hate him for his feelings. 

Chris suddenly straightened up, his eyes widening. Jean was perfect. 

"I just had a rough weekend." Chris said, finally, his voice barely containing the relief he felt. "Jean…I…can we talk about this later at lunch?"

He would finally be able to do this. He would finally be able to get this heavy, life crushing weight off of his chest, even if he had to edit the truth, even if the person he was telling it to would only understand half of what he would tell her. 

"Sure." Jean watched him, relieved now at seeing some sign of life in his eyes. It was the most excited she had seen him since they became friends, and to her, that was definitely a good sign. 

RE 

The day had initially started out as a moody one, and even when Chris's shift ended, the world continued to brood, a chilly breeze now joining the still cloudy sky. 

The brunette shivered in his leather jacket as he waited for Jean in the parking lot, leaning against his car as he smoked a cigarette. He knew it was unhealthy and all, but hell, anything that distracted him from the nightmares was good enough for him. It was still hard to fight off the paranoia whenever he walked into a crowded area, or into a parking lot where cars were always on the move. 

Soon he saw her familiar face and felt calmer, knowing Jean would distract him from his usual fears, and also knowing he was finally taking the next step in forgetting everything. It would do him a lot of good Chris knew, to talk about what had happened in Africa, well everything really, with someone who wouldn't know exactly who he was talking about. 

Jean was a nice girl, and an incredibly sharp one who had her own secret past. Chris knew she was the right one to talk to and smiled as he waved at his friend. 

And then…all of hell broke loose. 

Chris should have seen it coming, really. He knew by now that he had the world's worst luck, and part of him was always uneasy, uncertain if it was all really over. 

It started, strangely enough, with a crow. 

The black bird had suddenly swooped down out of nowhere in front of Chris, flying across him and cawing loudly, as if alarmed. The brunette only had enough time to notice the flash of red eyes before looking up in time to see a white van screech to a halt right in front of him. 

There were no words written on its side visible to Chris, but his heart had still thumped in dread, the pounding quickly rushing in his ears as if an alarm had been triggered. Instincts born from years of fighting Umbrella screamed at Chris to get a move on, to run like hell because trouble was coming and it was coming for _him.  
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But Chris was rooted to the ground, only staring as he wondered if it was _possible, _that after everything if there was a _possibility_ that—until he saw the logo on the mercs' Kevlar vests as they jumped out of the van. 

_Nope_, Chris thought, backing away before leaning forward into a combat stance. _Not Umbrella_. 

But it was someone who was just as bad. 

The question was, who?

**AN: Yep, trouble is on the horizon for Chris. Okay, okay, it's right in his freakin' face. The next chapter will have a lot more action, promise. See you next update! And as always, any feedback and comments will make my day, especially any advice on kick butt action scenes! **


	3. Chapter 2: New Enemies

**AN: Hello, world! Sorry for the wait! Welcome to chapter two.**

**AN: By the way, I love the song mentioned in this chapter. If you haven't heard it, go for it, I recommend it. I know for a fact a Wesker tribute on Youtube has that song, and it totally applies to him and Chris, I think. (shrugs) But that's just me:)  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil, and I do not own any of its characters.  
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**There's Nothing Like a Trail of Blood**

**Chapter Two:**

**New Enemies**

"Chris?" Jean's questioning voice could be heard from the other side of the van, and it was her voice that snapped Chris into action.

"Stay back!" he shouted, praying she would listen to him. "Get-get back to the hospital!"

"But-"

"Now, Jean!" Chris barked, and saw a real flash of fear cross over her face. _See what happens? _His inner voice quietly mocked, coiling in his mind like a snake about to strike, _reveling_in the distraction it was in the situation. See what happens to anyone you get close to?

"Shut up!" Chris snapped at himself. He saw that the mercenaries were cradling Uzi sub machine guns and swore under his breath. _Not good, _Chris the only thing Chris could think about doing that would allow for a slim chance of survival was to run like hell.

So he did.

"Stop or we'll shoot!" one of the mercs shouted, but Chris was already weaving in between cars in the parking lot to place obstacles between him and any bullets that would be shot after him. Seconds later he heard the squeal of the van as it started in pursuit, having to drive the long way around in hopes of cutting Chris off from escape, towards the street to the far right of the parking lot since the left side led to a dead end.

_No one's noticed them yet, _Chris thought as his feet pounded on the concrete, his breathing heavy, lungs unused to the stress after five months of only walking and driving. He hoped Jean was safe and was calling the police at the moment, because if he didn't have a distraction soon, he'd be screwed.

Chris chose that moment to check where the van was, and it was right at the exit, blocking it to prevent anyone from entering or leaving. Soon the police would be alerted, but Chris knew that the mercs would just as soon mow the cops down as they would anyone stupid enough to confront them, which meant it was up to him to lead them away from innocent people.

_Besides…I don't think they really want me dead, if they warned me not to run. _Chris dismissed the dastardly plots forming in his mind and concentrated on the mess he had been thrown into without so much as a warning.

It was then that the van doors slid open and the mercs filed out, Chris ducked down quickly to avoid being detected, all the while thinking _crapcrapcrap._He glanced up at the sky for some form of guidance, letting his breathing slow down and his mind clear.

_Right._This was a combat situation, one that he'd been in countless times before. The mercs weren't the only ones who had combat knowledge, and they didn't have Chris's experience with things that were much faster, more brutal and a bitch to kill.

There wasn't enough time to double back to his car, and Chris wouldn't be able to outrun them on foot. Frustration decorated his features as he stared down at his working boots, and without thinking, began tapping his fingers on the door of the car he was crouched down next to.

A car. Any idiot would see that he would want to get a car, preferably his own…

A rare grin flashed across Chris Redfield's face as he put his newly hatched plan into action.

* * *

><p>"What the hell?" one of the mercs muttered, seeing no sign of the target. "Where is he?"<p>

"He's around here," another one drawled confidently. "Probably trying to call the police, the wuss."

"I heard he hasn't been the same since coming into contact with one of the experiments back at the base." The first merc said, scanning the seemingly deserted parking lot for any signs of movement. "He was supposed to be really depressed and easy to pick up."

"Don't tell me you think this is hard, Ted." His companion said with a smirk. "We'll flush him out in a few."

Ted glared at his partner and then dropped the expression when he heard a car alarm blare into the silence…close to where the target had parked his vehicle.

"He's going for his car!" Ted told his companion, and both men started to sprint towards where they believed was the target, Ted calling on his radio for the other men on the opposite side of the parking lot to follow the noise.

It was a big mistake, of course.

Chris kept his head behind a Mustang as the mercs ran past, chuckling to himself as he heard one of them shouting on his radio to head towards the source of the noise. He stuffed his car clicker back into his jacket's pocket, then patted his company issued gun in its holster. The firearm offered some comfort should the worst come to happen, but for now Chris would rather walk out of the ambush in one piece.

To be honest though, the brunette wasn't sure if he would. While the majority of the mercs were off on a wild goose chase, there was still the matter of the van blocking the only exit.

"What should I do?" Chris muttered to himself, knowing time was in short supply.

_Wesker would have disposed of the driver merc and taken the van himself. _His mental voice offered. _Just one quick bullet to the head and-_

_I'm not Wesker! _Chris snapped in his mind. _Why are you even thinking about him?_

Not that his mental voice was wrong. It _would _be the easiest way to escape. But it would mean killing and he was so _sick _and _tired _of his nightmares keeping him awake. Adding another body wouldn't help at all.

_Knowing you, idiot, you'll try to knock out the driver and carjack him. _The mental voice continued. _Less blood spilled that way._

_How does that make me an idiot? _Chris demanded. _That's not a bad plan at all-You leave the door open for things to go wrong. You're weak, Wesker would never have left things to chance, but you, Murphy's Law mocks you at every turn…_

__"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Chris growled, annoyed at himself, because it was _his _hardened, bitter self that was yelling this crap at him. _He _was the one that had screwed up and now fighting the urge to do things in a more violent manner, justifying it by saying it was _logical._ _Killing _wasn't logical and Chris would never resort to it ever again.__

_So now what?  
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* * *

><p>"Fucking morons." The merc driver grumbled, scanning the newspaper in his hands. The boss had only given the team one target. One. Twenty minutes had passed and they still hadn't captured…what's-his-name?<p>

"Christopher Redfield." The driver read from his cell phone screen. Black eyes narrowed at the name in concentration. Why did it sound so damn familiar?

His hand came up to scratch his five o' clock shadow, the black bristles and their itchiness paling in comparison to the sudden feeling of cool metal pressing right against his neck.

_Christopher Redfield. _Rumour in the merc circles had it that the man was responsible for the death of one high paying and highly dangerous man…someone by the name of Wesker. The rumours weren't true of course. Albert Wesker was not dead…but he was probably wishing he was by now.

The point was…this made Christopher Redfield a very dangerous man, for he was the one who had ensured the easy capture of the new experiment back at the facility. So the driver felt no shame in the rapid pulse brought on by the gun pressing against him.

"Out of the car." a cold voice ordered. "Or your brains are gonna be decorating the dashboard."

_Ah yes_, the driver thought. Rumor also had it that Chris was a very violent person.

He stepped wordlessly out of the car and saw a pair of hard blue eyes glare at him.

"On your knees." Was the next order and the driver readily complied by crouching down, and then lowered his hand close to the ground, appearing to support himself.

Within seconds the driver had a pocketknife drawn. Within two, he was ready to throw it when the heavy body of the firearm connected with his temple, sending the black waters of unconsciousness running to greet the driver.

_Well, at least one of the rumours was true. _Was the driver's last thought.

* * *

><p>"I didn't kill him." Chris repeated to himself, which made him feel slightly better. And he had made sure to drag the driver's body to the bushes where his merc buddies could easily find him. Still, he felt guilty for the concussion he surely gave the driver, and the headache he'd have upon regaining consciousness. Chris had had his share of concussions before, and knew it sucked worse than a hangover.<p>

"But I didn't kill him." Chris repeated and ran his hand through his brown hair, while the other kept the steering wheel steady.

After taking care of the driver (who_ wasn't _dead_), _Chris had simply turned the keys in the ignition and had driven away, making sure not to make unnecessary noise as he did so. But by now, the mercs would have noticed what had occurred and right now, Chris wanted to work out a plan…and a list of questions.

Like, who were they, besides mercs? Who did they work for? And more importantly, what the hell did they want with him?

Back in the good old days (not), Chris's mind would have pointed mental fingers at—him. But he was dead now, so Chris needed to expand his list of enemies.

At the next red light, Chris pulled out his cell phone and pressed number one for Claire on speed dial. Maybe he should have called Jill first, but right now, Chris wanted to check if his sis was okay.

"Damn. Machine." Chris bit his lip and waited for the machine to beep.

"Hey Claire, it's me." Here he hesitated. How was he supposed to tell his sister that he had a confrontation with mercenaries without freaking her out? "I…uh…know it's been a while, but I just wanted to see if you were okay."

_Damn…why can't I tell her? _He thought desperately.

_Because you've already done enough. _The mental voice murmured. _To her and Jill._

And for once, Chris agreed.

"Yeah, um…that's it. I'll call you later, alright? And if you see Jill around, tell her I said hi." Chris cleared his throat. "Love you, Claire." He hung up.

He tossed the cell phone on the passenger seat and sighed heavily. He was alone in this, like he should be. That way, if there was a chance anyone would get hurt, Chris knew it would be him and not someone he cared about.

So why did he feel so depressed?

Maybe the radio would help.

_I can't escape myself  
>(I can't escape myself)<br>So many times I've lied  
>(So many times I've lied)<br>But there's still rage inside  
>Somebody get me through this nightmare<br>I can't control myself_

A wry smile crossed Chris's face at the lyrics. Even though it was the middle of the song, Chris could recognize 'Animal I have Become' by Three Days Grace. And strangely enough, he found himself in those lyrics, could see the very worst parts of himself being sung through the radio and into the van.

Before, when he used to listen to this song, he was always reminded of somebody else, but instead of making him flinch at the disturbing connection to the song, from the past and the present, Chris allowed himself to indulge in the memories, the good ones.

Which couldn't exactly be explained through the lyrics but…Chris could still feel and see them.

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me?  
>No one would ever change this animal I have become<br>Help me believe it's not the real me  
>Somebody help me tame this animal<br>(This animal, this animal)_

_I could never forget…even if I wanted to… _There was a sad smile on Chris's face, as flashes of memory followed the lyrics:

_S__.T.A.R.S._

_Black sunglasses._

_A smirk. A raised eyebrow._

_White blonde hair._

_Red eyes…_

A vibrating sound on the passenger seat pulled Chris out of memory lane. _Probably Jean_, he thought and moved his hand absently to take his phone. He should have texted her sooner to tell her he was okay, but…blame Three Days Grace.

And then he read the text message.

_**We have your friend. Stop your car in the next parking lot or she dies.**_

"Fuck." All the color drained from Chris's face and he almost crashed into another car.

This couldn't be happening.

The almost dreamlike state he was in before evaporated, and soon Chris was close to hyperventilating.

"Fuck." He whispered, his vision almost double as he looked at the road in front of him. The cars seemed to blend together, the road dancing in front of him. Without another word, Chris drove into the parking lot of a recently closed down supermarket and parked in the empty space right in front of the closed doors. Then Chris turned the car off, and the silence fell, suffocating him with the news that _yes_, yes he did screw up again. And no, there was nothing he could do.

Still, Chris drew up his shoulders and patted his holster for the company issued gun. Once he was assured it was there, he decided to take it out of the holster and transferred it to a jacket pocket. The moment the firearm was gone from view, a gun tapped the metal frame above the driver's window.

Swallowing a little, Chris unlocked the door and climbed out, coming face to face with the team of seven mercs, two of them holding a battered and gagged Jean between them. The vivid fear in his friend's caramel colored eyes was a rusty dagger to Chris's conscience.

It was his fault. Because of her association with him, Jean was now a hostage, a dead one if he didn't think up a plan soon.

"You've got me." Chris finally said, holding up his hands in surrender. He nodded towards Jean and her eyes widened. "Now let her go."

There was no movement to indicate what their response would be, and Chris felt cold as a breeze ripped through his uniform.

Finally the merc that had knocked nodded once at the other men. They ungagged her before throwing her at Chris, who stumbled when he caught her.

"You see, Christopher?" The merc said, and Chris saw that the black haired man with bright green eyes and a small scar running just beneath his left eye was actually the leader. He appeared young, in his early twenties. Too young to be deep inside this line of work, but Chris knew it was all a load of bull. The world didn't give a damn how old you were when it decided to fuck you over. It was like the virus in that way, not sparing anyone or judging, just barreling along, knocking down anyone unlucky enough to be in its direct path.

And Chris was the unluckiest person he knew at this point, except for Jean because she had no idea what she was involved in. He could feel her right now, pressed against his side, trembling as she struggled to maintain her composure. Chris wanted to put an arm around her but didn't dare, in case he needed to move fast.

He didn't want his friend to die, hell _he _didn't want to die, and that was damn surprising for him. His past behavior over the past five months hadn't exactly been full of living lately.

"I am honorable enough to have fulfilled my side of the deal." The merc leader continued, and Christopher blinked, realizing that they knew his name. And the asshole had called him Christopher, which only a few people got away with, and only because he couldn't kill them…other than-

"I suggest you complete your side of the arrangement and turn yourself in." Chris couldn't place where exactly, but there was definitely something off about how the merc said his words, as if he was a foreigner. Russian, maybe?

"Who are you?" Chris blurted out, unnerved by the relaxed, yet well-mannered merc. He was used to dealing with Umbrella, with zombies and anything mutated. But this was different…and somehow he had a feeling this was the beginning of something.

Something very big and very bad.

"That is not necessary information at the moment." The merc replied calmly. "Will you go willingly with us?"

"Yeah." Chris answered. "Hold on." He turned to Jean's tear streaked face and felt another pang of guilt.

"You'll be okay, Jean." Chris said quietly. "I'm sorry for getting you into this, but you'll be okay, alright? Just drive the car back to the hospital and pretend you never saw them, and me."

"Chris, what about you?" Jean said, her voice shaking. "I can't leave you behind. What if they kill you?"

"Don't worry about me." Chris shot her a confident smile. "This isn't the first time I've run into trouble. Go on, I'll be fine."

"Yes, Jean," the merc drawled. "Pretend none of this ever happened and you will live a much longer and happier life." His pale face became stern when he saw Jean hesitate.

"I must warn you, however," the merc told her, sounding dead serious now. "Should the news or media become aware of Chris's disappearance in less than twenty four hours, as well as of our involvement, we will find you in your apartment at West 22nd street, on the third floor, number 33G and kill you. Is that understood?"

Jean was ashen at the accuracy of the information and nodded mutely. She turned to Chris, tears shining in her eyes and he gave her another smile of reassurance.

"Guess they'll have to find a substitute until I get back." He joked and Jean shook her head, smiling weakly.

"I'm so sorry, Chris." She told him and hugged him tightly until Chris gently pried her off and pushed her towards the car.

He watched as Jean drove away then, feeling the anxiety fade a little, knowing his friend was spared from the hell that was soon to be unleashed.

At least he did something right today, and Chris was immensely comforted by that, but it vanished when the merc began to speak again.

"I am glad your friend is safe, Mr. Redfield. Too many innocents die in this sort of situation."

"What do you care?" Chris growled, glaring at him. "The more people you kill, the merrier right?"

"You are mistaken." The leader said, serenely. "In my line of work, killing excessively makes it easier for you to be found, you leave a trail of blood that will be very hard to clean up." He chuckled then and Chris clenched his jaw in annoyance.

"Besides, it is extremely difficult to clean blood out of clothes, no? And I do hate having to go shopping so often." The merc said and looked curiously at Chris. "Are you all right?"

Chris stayed silent. How could he talk so casually about killing? How could he stand there and joke about blood while Chris had to face nightmares night after night? Would the merc still feel that way if he had been through what Chris had?

"In any case, Mr. Redfield," the merc said, motioning to one of the men. "I advise you not to struggle, I wish only to try this once so we can be on our way."

"What?" Chris felt a surge of fear when he saw the hypodermic syringe in the man's hand. He was suddenly surrounded by two of the mercs, one pulling back his jacket to reveal a bare arm to the freezing afternoon air.

There was no time to pull out the gun, and despite the dread, Chris refused to back out of the deal he had made.

So he remained still and didn't resist, trying not to let his imagination run wild as the needle pierced the skin and the fluid was injected into his body. The head merc was surprisingly gentle and carefully pulled the needle out and gave it to one of the men to dispose of.

Chris's vision was doubled and fading fast. He sagged under the sudden weakness that overcame him, only the two mercs' arms behind him kept him upright. Clouded blue eyes saw the white grey sea above suddenly part to let a shaft of yellow white through, and a hollow caw overhead gave the moment more of a dreamlike quality.

Chris felt extremely vulnerable, the pathetic paper-thin world he created to replace the horrible one he had exited from was quickly crumpling under the weight of an oncoming storm that, like a twisted cyclone, would blow him far, far away from Kansas.

And this time, there was no one to help him navigate through the uncharted territory of a world with new players…and a new arch villain.

Chris was quickly losing his trains of thought and barely noticed when the leader of the mercenaries leaned his head forward and close to his ear.

"I feel sorry for you, my friend." The merc murmured. "You are about to meet an old friend and a new enemy. And this enemy would very much like to see you dead."

"Who?" Chris mumbled, his voice slurring. Enemy? Friend? Anyone, it didn't matter who the merc chose to divulge info about…

"They are built upon the ashes and bones of Umbrella, and are twice as dangerous." Came the reply. "They are…"

Chris never managed to catch the last word. By then he had already faded away, and no longer cared about anything except surrendering to the nothingness of his mind.

Because it was there that he could pretend that none of this was happening.

Not again.

**AN: Whew. Took some revising, but it's finally out! Poor Chris. If he thinks things are bad now, next chapter…(evil smile). Ahem, there will be insanity next chapter, folks, a chapter that shall come soon now that this month is almost OVER!**

**Feedback/comments are always welcome and will totally make my day.**

**Thanks to I Caught Myself and lizzyhoneyizzy for the great advice in writing this chapter!:)**

**And finally, ****thank you**** for your patience for this update. And ****double**** thank you for the reviews, story alerts and support. And for reading**** (waves) See you next update! **** And Happy Memorial Day!**


	4. Chapter 3: Alumina

**A/N: Wah! I am a horrible, **_**horrible**_** person for promising to update more frequently in June and then not even posting! **** Forgive me, kind readers, especially since this story has reached ten, **_**ten**_** reviews! And a flood of alerts and whatnot. Sigh… **

**Then again, amigos, I prefer to take forever and post something decent then rush and deliver a piece of poo…still, I have learned a valuable lesson. As of this posting I already have the next chapter written, so now there's a pile to revise and post ****weekly****, on…some day next week **** Bear with me, people.**

**A/N: Let's see, the chapter title is from a song sung by Nightmare. And if you can guess from what anime, you are awesome and part of the cool kid crowd…which this author obviously isn't part of…**

**Ahem. Once again I thank Lizzyhoneyizzy for helping me with Wesker's fight scene…I really need to learn how to write those better by the way, cause come on! Wesker! Practice makes perfect, I guess.**

**Anything else? If you're still reading, thank you so much for still reading! And if you're new and reading this in one go, hope you can see that I'm improving a tad bit!**

**Disclaimer:**** For those of you who actually think I might own these beautiful, beautiful people and creatures, I laugh at you, for you are a dumb bunny. **** However, Adrian and the Ts and Drake and his clean up crew are **_**mine**_**. If only Wesker and Chris were…now onto the show!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three:<strong>

**Alumina**

* * *

><p>"He won't make it." The confident drawl of one of the clean-up team's men broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the surveillance room.<p>

No one turned to look at the redhead with mismatched eyes. To do so would be to confirm that Albert Wesker was approaching death's one wanted to face that possibility, not when the man had the potential to provide so much valuable information on Umbrella's experiments despite Uroboros being inactive in his body, or in the worst case scenario, flushed completely out of his system.

The world of science at least, would mourn his passing…_again_.

The redhead rolled his eyes and his white one piece uniform (matching the lab coats everyone else wore) rustled as he sighed.

"Three Lickers, gentlemen and gentlewomen." He told them. "Albert Wesker has met his match." Then he grinned. "I'm gonna round up my boys now. See ya, Docs."

Again, no one said anything as the white work boots thudded across the room and outside to the brightly lit corridors.

The room remained in darkness. All eyes were focused on the large plasma screen showing the video feed of a massive white room, as large as a high school gym. In the center stood a blonde haired man in a white t-shirt and pants, looking every bit the mental hospital patient the world thought he should have been a long time ago.

A pair of black shades covered his now grey eyes, interrupting the whiteness of the room. His hands were behind his back and his head slightly turned to the corners of the dimly lit room, appearing to absorb every minute detail.

Three crimson coated tongues flicked out towards the blonde man, followed by low growls that bounced around the walls of the room, trying to instill fear into their target. But the man wasn't fazed. He didn't even flinch.

Slowly and deliberately, the man turned to face the fourth unoccupied corner of the room. He raised his head and stared directly into the camera, and the occupants in the surveillance room felt as if the man were looking straight at _them, _not the object providing them with his image.

It was eerie, and the people's fears were confirmed when Albert Wesker _smirked_ at them and shifted his attention to the three Lickers, as if the people observing him were nothing more than bystanders glued to the spot by the scene in front of them, too stupid to understand what was really going on in the room.

And they were. Because _no one_ in the surveillance room knew the extent of what Albert Wesker was capable of, and _that_ would be a mistake they would soon come to regret.

"Fools." Wesker rolled his eyes behind his shades, pleased that his sunglasses at the least, were on him. He had allowed the white clothes that made him seem like he belonged in a mental asylum because really, there was no other choice, what with his practically nonexistent ones.

There was that fact and one he didn't care for as much:

He was a prisoner here.

But there was no way that Wesker would allow _anyone _to touch his sunglasses. After the…_incident, _Wesker had managed to find a spare pair of shades moments before his capture and would have had no problem killing the person who tried to touch his prized possession.

The fools had understood this and left him alone, primarily because with or without Uroboros, Wesker was still dangerous.

And it was about time that he reminded them of that. The blonde man knew that no one expected him to survive this latest exercise. He had been pitted against groups of the undead, mutated dogs, even a pair of Lickers. But a trio of Lickers…by now the clean up crew was probably already mobilizing to sweep bloody remains into plastic bags.

But they wouldn't be Wesker's remains.

Wesker had been given a rusty old kukri as his only weapon. And that was it. No gun, not even tear gas or a grenade. No wonder they expected him to die. Anyone else would have, because no one wanted to engage in close combat with three Lickers without a dozen guns and grenades and most importantly, _back up._

Not unless they were desperate.

And in Wesker's situation, not unless they didn't have a choice.

Wesker didn't dwell on a mission that according to everyone else he was doomed to fail. Instead, the blonde man cooperated with a voice in his head, warning him to slink into the fourth camera occupied corner because giving his back to just one Licker might result in his death.

Wesker tightened his hold on the blade in his gloveless hand. _Choices, choices, so many choices, _Wesker thought, scanning the enemy for any details that would determine the killing lineup as he very slowly began to inch his way to his corner.

As if they were waiting for him to make the first move, the mutated creatures launched themselves out of their shadowed corners, running at the blonde man with the gait of primitive predators.

Wesker watched them with a bored expression on his face, unimpressed by the raw, brown-red muscles of the Lickers closing in on him. Overgrown yellowed claws scraped at the tiled floors they ran across, their sharp heaviness keeping them from sliding across the room. Wesker could hear the scrape and clicks now as the distance was decreasing rapidly between him and his opponents.

"All brawn and no brains." Wesker muttered, holding back another smirk. "Just like Chris."

There was no chance of that smirk now. The five letter word had banished it to the depths of hell, because that was exactly where Chris Redfield had sent him to. Granted, it was better to be stuck here than at the bottom of a volcano, but still, Wesker was looking forward to planning his revenge.

Perhaps something including fire. Lots and lots of fire. Or heavy, blunt objects. Wesker hadn't decided yet…

But lately, Wesker was hearing _interesting_ rumours from the guards and various lab technicians around the facility. They were all about his arch nemesis, rumours that were leading the blonde to believe that the brunette hadn't exactly been celebrating the supposed victory since Africa.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, irritated Wesker. It took all the satisfaction out of his return if he wouldn't be able to rain on Christopher's parade so to speak, and wipe the smug grin off the younger man's face when he saw that the Tyrant was still very much alive.

In fact, from what Wesker had heard, Christopher had long been deprived of a smile and his companions for months, and had ended up moving across the country and taking a job as a security guard. Gone were the heroic exploits of the past, and the camaraderie with Valentine and the rest of the group. In its stead was isolation and possibly depression, including an emergency night visit to the very same hospital he worked at just one month after the Kijuju incident.

Wesker knew better than to believe that such exaggerated accounts of major depression and suicidal tendencies were true. Chris was simply too annoyingly optimistic and lively to suddenly change, especially after a hard won 'victory'. But part of him wondered offhandedly, how the Redfield really was living, back in the 'normal' world.

Because if it was anything like how Chris used to live for almost a year after Wesker betrayed S.T.A.R.S and 'died' at the mansion, then there was a disturbing possibility that these rumours weren't just rumours after all.

* * *

><p>"Adrian."<p>

"Yes, Trent?" The answering voice was mild, to put it gently, not too put off by the interruption of observing the young brunette he held across his lap. The sedative had been administered almost two hours ago, and Redfield was due to wake up soon.

The company had made sure not to gawk at how easily their leader had taken the prisoner into his arms. His preference for men was no secret, as was his usually gentle treatment for anyone who was injured. But there was an unusual intensity to how Adrian was studying the unconscious man, not with the eyes of a besotted man, but of the plotting manipulator he was known worldwide to be.

The van stayed immersed in silence for another long moment before Trent cleared his throat and sneaked a glance at Ted with hesitant doe brown eyes. The redhead nodded in encouragement to Trent, and the brown haired man finally gathered his speaking cajones.

"The prisoner…um," he swallowed loudly. "He really doesn't know about Generation?"

Adrian's blue eyes narrowed. It wouldn't do for his men to speak so freely in front of Christopher, but he was still supposedly unconscious for a good ten minutes. And he did hate for anyone to be in an uneven playing field…

"No, Trent, I do not believe so." He answered, pale fingers gliding over Chris's neck to feel the still steady pulse before withdrawing. The leader of the merc team was tempted to touch the gaunt features of a man who surely must have seen as much combat as himself, including close encounters with the cursed dead but restrained himself. It would not do for him to display too much interest in the man he held despite being in a vehicle with two of his most trusted men, the third recuperating in a hospital from a concussion.

_Oh, Terry, _Adrian thought, ruefully. _You always were a little slow on the uptake. How lucky our prisoner is still so innocent compared to us._

"So he doesn't know about…" Ted spoke up, and gave the unconscious Redfield an uneasy glance.

Adrian shook his head, his black hair covering half of his face, the pale skin the only other color on his entirely black outfit. What little face was left to view was blank, and jade green eyes coolly met the gaze of his subordinates.

"It is to stay this way." He told them quietly. "Until he sees for himself. Otherwise, the meeting will be compromised."

"Sir," the quiet spoken redhead returned his gaze to the road where conveniently enough, few cars seemed to be traveling on at the moment.

Trent gawked at the firm serious tone that the group's medic took and watched Adrian almost do the same.

"Christopher Redfield may already be compromised." Ted said, and waited.

"Explain." Adrian ordered and the redhead continued.

"The files you asked us to gather include recent hospital treatment at the hospital where he is employed." Ted told his boss. "Four months ago he came to the emergency room with massive blood loss due to multiple lacerations on his arms."

Adrian raised an eyebrow and the redhead rushed to explain.

"It was done exactly one month after he came back from a mission in Africa, where our newest…acquisition was found."

"Ah." Trent nodded and whistled. "Shit. Does that mean that—"

"It means that it is up to our _acquisition_," here Adrian shot Ted an amused look then a warning glance at the brunette. "To help our friend realize the extent of the situation. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." The other two men chorused.

"Good." Adrian placed his hand lightly on Christopher's neck and felt the racing pulse there. He smiled. "Very good."

* * *

><p>The Licker's enraged roar was cut short as the rusted blade sliced through exposed raw muscle and buried itself in the white wall behind the now permanently dead (and headless) creature.<p>

One monster down. Two more to go.

Except…Wesker had let go of the only weapon he had.

Luckily for the blonde, the cannibalistic nature of the mutated creatures led them to fall upon their deceased comrade, devouring the cooling body as if they had never eaten before.

Knowing them, Wesker knew it was far (very) from the truth.

Slowly, Wesker strode over to his weapon, but didn't get further than 100 feet away when a low growl sounded behind him.

He raised a pale eyebrow.

"Clearly I didn't give this one enough credit." He mused, the muscles already tensing in his body, preparing to take flight. The blonde didn't plan on running, but clearly his body had other ideas…perhaps the part of his body that harbored Uroboros.

Wesker knew without a doubt that the virus lay dormant inside of him. There could be no other possible explanation for why he had survived his meeting with a volcano's interior. If Wesker had indeed had the virus flushed out of his system after his fall, then surely the blonde would not have been able to wade out of the sea of fire in one piece.

Now if only he could once again master control over the animal side of him...the side that apparently seemed to reveal its presence only when he was in danger, like now…

The creature gave another louder screech and with gaping jaws tried to land on all fours on Wesker's back. And it would have, were it not for Wesker vanishing seconds before the Licker's claws would have shredded through the cotton material of his t-shirt.

The Licker actually dropped its tongue in confusion, trying vainly to sense its prey…who was currently gripping the leather handle of the kukri embedded in the wall with what could almost, _almost, _be called an astonished expression.

Albert Wesker's eyes flashed crimson.

A smirk quickly followed, and the blonde man easily slid the inserted blade out of the wall as if the heavily layered plaster and cement were water instead of a more solid substance. With subtle, fluid movements all melting into the other, Wesker seemed to almost glide to the Licker that had dared to attack him.

It wasn't intimidated. The mutated creature roared again, and meat red shoulders rippled with rage. Claws skipped yards as the Licker charged at the blonde man. Wesker simply stood, feet comfortably apart, stature perfectly upright, the only sign that he was aware of the attacker was in the tightened grip on the kukri.

Thoughts on how to deal with the Licker flew through Wesker's mind in droves. He couldn't latch onto one, and before he could so much as blink, the world suddenly slowed, moving at the pace of dripping honey.

Wesker's mind stopped _thinking._

It just started _doing._

Because Wesker was no longer in control.

To the cameras, it would appear as if Wesker had given up all hope of fighting, of attempting to even escape. The man had just stood there, not even instinctively raising his hand to ward off the fatal blow from the Licker.

The Licker leapt, flicking its tongue in victory as it descended on the still blonde.

Yards became feet. Feet almost became inches. But once again, Wesker didn't meet the Licker. The mutated abomination met the ground heavily, and before it could stagger to its feet, Wesker delivered a roundhouse kick that sent it flying into the air, straight towards the wall at bone crushing speed. Even then it could survive, and Wesker refused to take any chances.

A white blur followed the Licker and leapt into the air to deliver a powerful slash with the kukri, severing its spine, instantly paralyzing the creature.

The Licker's momentum wasn't interrupted however, and the blonde's last attack only served to speed up its meeting with the wall.

The impact finished the job.

Wesker didn't bother glancing at the corpse, or the dark blood sluggishly oozing onto the floor. He turned instead to the last Licker. Two seconds later and a kick delivered the monster to the wall, causing the camera above the crumpled heap of flesh to shudder from the impact. Stunned researchers could only stare as the relaxed blonde Tyrant walked over to the dazed creature. Just as calmly, Wesker severed its tongue with one clean cut using the red-stained kukri before sending the tongueless Licker flying to the wall across the room.

Screeches of pain only grew in volume as an arm was left behind before the Licker flew once more to an adjacent wall. The wall opposite that one received the second limb.

Wesker only grew more meticulous as he methodically chopped off the Licker's body parts. The creature only grew more pathetic as it scrabbled uselessly to stand on its hind legs after losing its claws, leaving a messy trail of blood as it struggled to lift itself to its feet.

Soon only its bleeding torso and head was left. Blood was spattered across white walls, decorating it with slowly darkening stains that would remain permanently clinging to the walls.

But Wesker wasn't finished yet with his plaything.

It was now time for the finale.

The quivering, torn mess that was the Licker was picked up by Wesker with slender, delicate hands. Bloodred eyes regarded the creature with interest before the blonde carelessly tossed the Licker into the air. The Licker howled weakly as it rose up gently into the air, then slowly fell down, picking up speed as it hurtled towards Wesker.

As soon as it was within grabbing distance, Wesker dropped the kukri, took hold of the Licker's head and tore it away from the body with one sharp kick to the torso and one sharp twist to its head. Once the torso dropped to the ground, the blonde man stepped back and with a grin that could only (at this point) be described as feral and disturbing, flung the blood coated head straight at the camera, shattering its lens once head and glass collided.

Silence echoed in the death filled room and the surveillance room. The observers could only see static on the monitor and gaped in shock, mentally replaying the latest exercise over and over.

Inside the room in which Wesker stood, the blonde man's sharpened focus deserted him, and no one saw as he staggered onto his knee, kneeling as a sharp pain pierced through his head. Wesker kept one hand flat on the ground, refusing to clutch at his aching head like an idiot, focusing instead on tolerating the pain. Experience told him that the discomfort would pass soon enough, and it was a small price to pay for surviving this particular exercise.

But he had to admit, it was unusually bloody this time around.

At least he wasn't drenched in blood, and even his hands hadn't received more than a couple of drops worth of blood from the mutated creatures.

None of this seemed to dissuade Wesker from feeling frustration, though. Uroboros had gone as quickly as it had appeared, and this weariness meant that soon he would need to rest, meaning that analyzing this stupid (yet useful) exercise would have to wait a couple of hours.

"Some rest." Wesker muttered, slowly rising to stand, growling as another wave of dizziness slammed into him. "Rest would definitely benefit me at this point."

Maybe then, he'd stop talking to himself. Although at this point, it was more at the Uroboros virus than himself, which really, didn't bode well for his mental health. Falling into a volcano, escaping and dropping into an experimental facility of questionable ethics did that to a person.

_How the bloody hell did everyone else do it without going completely insane?_ Wesker wondered. Perhaps it was a question best left for Redfield at their reunion, which always ended in Chris ranting about their past.

Now Wesker would have something to contribute to said rant.

_I was wondering, Christopher, _Wesker would say in an imaginary future. _What pills or methods do you use to cope with the insanity that is your life? And please, do neglect to mention friendship and family. We all know there is no such thing for gods such as myself._

Before Wesker could dwell on how the imaginary conversation made his mental state appear even _worse_, two large doors that seemed to have melted into the whiteness of the room slid open. A redhead with mismatched eyes, one aqua blue and the other tawny brown, stepped in with a one piece cleaning suit. A team of cleaners with supplies followed, and all froze at the sight that greeted them.

Amusement shone in mismatched eyes as they met the cool grey ones of the underdog of the past exercise.

"Surprised you ain't dead, Wesker." The man said with a wide grin. He held out his hand at the side and received a pile of green bills.

"Boys," he said, a pleased smile breaking across his face. "I believe I win our bet."

"Only cause you steered us wrong, Drake." One of them men grumbled and the leader shrugged.

"You're only steered wrong if ya let yourself, Benny." The man said cheerfully and extended some bills to Wesker. "You get a cut too, Wesker."

The blonde man ignored the head of the cleaning team and walked past them to the corridor where he would be escorted to his cell. But before he left, he paused at the exit.

"There will be a time when _you _will be led wrong, Drake." Wesker said coolly. "And when it happens I'll personally be there to watch you die."

Drake shrugged. "A man's gotta die sometime, right?" he replied. "You would know, if you ever stayed dead."

A hearty chuckle followed the blonde man out of the bloody room, followed by barked orders to get to work.

_Nothing stays dead anymore. _Wesker continued his walk and for the first time in a very long time, found himself disturbed at that fact.

And _that _ladies and gentlemen, was _never _a good sign.

Not for someone like Albert Wesker.

* * *

><p>"I will take our guest to his cell," Adrian said to his subordinates.<p>

All three men, with Christopher in the head merc's arms were gathered in the middle of the long freezing corridor. To the left were the holding cells, the right held offices and laboratories, and well, everything else.

Once the group separated, the black haired merc glanced down at the slumbering man, noting that he was beginning to stir some more.

"Almost there, Christopher." Adrian muttered under his breath, ending his long walk in front of a white door with one square glass window a little above eye level. With one hand, the mercenary managed to extract his ID from his jean pocket and with only some difficulty hold it in front of a scanner positioned in front of the door. The scanner flashed green and a low buzz followed. Seconds later the door slid open and Adrian stepped into the cell, greeted by white.

White walls, white floor, and surprise…white bunk bed lodged in the farthest corner of the room. The merc couldn't suppress an eye roll at the color and walked over to the lower bed where a neatly folded up pair of sweats and t-shirt awaited him.

They were white.

Adrian quietly snorted and moved the clothes to the side before stooping down to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling of the bed above. Very gently, the merc set Chris on the bed so as not to finish waking him up, but even so, the brunette groaned and rolled over towards Adrian.

"Stay." Adrian grumbled, lightly pushing him back. He smiled faintly as Chris curled up to face the wall and the mercenary straightened up to leave.

"I feel sorry for you, Christopher." Adrian said softly, breaking the silence in the cell, speaking to the unconscious man. "I truly, truly do."

_I feel sorry for you, Christopher. _That voice, so full of regret…Chris opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of white.

_I truly, truly do. _Who said that? Chris tried to roll over and see who was speaking, heard the footsteps growing farther, but it was if his body had forgotten how to function.

And then a low buzzing sound shot adrenaline through him before the quiet click of a door made him roll over quickly and fall off the bed altogether.

"Ow." Chris winced and rubbed his head gingerly. That probably wasn't the best idea.

Blue eyes saw a blurry image. An all white image. Walls, maybe? What the hell was that clear square doing in the middle of all that white?

"Where the hell am I?" he asked, as if the room he was in would answer. Maybe it would, the sedative hadn't _completely_ worn off yet…

Wesker _really_ didn't like his guards.

They were yet another perfect example of all brawn and no brains, discussing last week's game of god knows what as if it were the highlight of their lives. Considering how stupid and easily pleased people like them were, perhaps it was.

It was times like these when Wesker was _glad _that he had a cell to go back to, a nice clean cell in which only _he _slept and didn't have to interact with these fools.

_Just one minute and I won't have to see them for another twelve hours, _Wesker thought, in an attempt to restrain himself from snapping their necks. Even without the virus active in him, Wesker was confident that he could take two guards out. It was the rest of the security team and team of tracker dogs that was the problem. And he had yet to memorize the entire layout of the facility, and without a set of blueprints…

_Thirty more seconds…_

"Hey Adrian," one of the guards said, noticing the lone black haired man walking towards them. "Back already, huh?"

"Yes." Was the distant reply, as if the merc's thoughts were elsewhere. Green eyes seemed preoccupied with something else but sharpened into focus when they met Wesker's stare.

Time halted as the two men locked eyes, expressions not hostile, merely…

Assessing. That was the word.

The short time in which the men had interacted had proven that their respective intelligence was on nearly equal levels, a fact that made them curious about each other. Wesker knew that it would be impossible to use the man with promises of money and power, clearly, the merc wanted to seek that for himself. But the blonde knew that the merc didn't exactly approve of the goings on in the facility, but he wasn't yet able to completely prove that theory.

Green eyes delivered two messages that Wesker found interesting. There was doubt for the first time in usually humor filled eyes, and worst of all, sympathy.

Grey eyes hardened behind dark sunglasses and Wesker nodded slightly in greeting. The nod was returned and when Wesker stood in front of a white door with a glass window just above eye level, he flipped through possible scenarios that warranted a reaction such as the one that the raven-haired man had given him. None of them were pleasant and included an interruption in what he thought was his personal time. Perhaps the next exercise was even more 'unfair', with even more Lickers?

Wesker dismissed such thoughts. In any case he could easily take care of those creatures, so there was no point in—

The door slid open with a low buzz, and a huddled figure in the middle of the cell room was the first thing that the blonde's eyes were drawn to. A figure that seemed familiar but completely strange at the same time.

Chris Redfield was pretty sure he was dreaming. Yep, dreaming. Because there was no way in hell that he could be sitting in what had to be a cell inside of a mental asylum. Only crazy people got sent there and Chris wasn't crazy—

Everything was still blurry. His head hurt, and he felt dizzy. Standing was out of the question and there! There was that annoying buzzing sound again! Was it that person who brought him here again?

Nope. Just another crazy. Hazy blue eyes managed to lock onto a tall man dressed in white. A patient. Except this guy didn't look crazy, he stepped into the room as if he owned the place. In fact, if it weren't for the set of black shades perched on the guy's aristocratic looking nose, Chris would even say that the guy really didn't belong here and was just a result of the sedatives…because seriously, who wore sunglasses indoors—

Sunglasses.

Blonde hair that seemed kinda slicked back, as if attempting to do the job without expensive hair gel.

Everything was becoming clearer, but Chris's mind only grew more confused.

This had to be a dream.

The man halted just in front of the door, the low buzz as it shut behind him ignored as he stared at Chris.

_It couldn't be. Nonono, it can't! It's impossible! _Chris's mind screamed in panic.

Pale, slender fingers took the pair of sunglasses off of the familiar face, revealing a set of eyes that belonged to an earlier time, before they became the glowing coals of a monster.

Shocked grey eyes met disbelieving blue.

**AN: Holy crap! Ohmygodohmygod and ohmygod again! Not only is this the longest chapter yet, but we finally have Chris and Wesker face to face…for less than a page. Heh, don't worry, next update there will be more, so much more. Which will be soon. Really. **

**I don't know if I did, but thank you all for being so kind to this newbie! You're all awesome and I hope you're with me for the long haul, all the alerts and reviews tell me you're with me up until now, so yay!**

**Feedback, comments, reviews and alerts are always welcome! They're good for the soul, you know, as is coffee. But seriously, some feedback on the action scene would help a lot! And on Wesker's eyes…I'm really not sure what color they are and I did try looking it up… Until next time (waves with one hand while the other weakly lifts coffee cup to gasping lips)! See ya! **


	5. Chapter 4: Illusion

**A/N: (Dying, weakly sipping some coffee) Now you come on, sad music? (kicks radio) Stupid radio, so unreliable when I need you! Being angsty is exhausting (at four in the morning), but fun. And therapeutic. :)  
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**What is it about drama and angst that makes me so damn happy? Eh, well this, my friends is the chapter I've been dying to write, for reasons you will soon see, er, read.  
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**Warning:**** Um…? Slash? Very light slash? Oh, and very sad Chris.**

**Disclaimer:**** Evil. They're all plain evil for making me say that I—No I won't say it! (wilts under Chris Redfield's glare) Goody twoshoes… Fine! I. Do. Not. Own. Resident. Evil. Happy? **

**Chapter Four:**

**Illusion**

The stunned silence was broken by a heavy sigh. 

"Wonderful." Wesker muttered. He crossed his arms and raised a pale eyebrow at the man on the floor.

"Even in hell, you manage to annoy me." The blonde man said and lifted a second eyebrow when he saw Redfield swallow loudly, as if the brunette had suddenly lost the capacity to breathe properly.

_That voice. Oh god, that voice._

__"Shu—shut up." Chris whispered, his voice shaking. "Just—shut up. You're not real."

An annoyed expression swam across the ghost's face and he stepped forward. The brunette scrambled away, tried to stand up but settled for crawling when he didn't have the strength to stand, because doing _anything_ to get away from _him _was better than just standing there and letting him touch him.

Because then he'd know it was all a dream and he'd wake up, maybe in his apartment, or maybe in a cell just like this one after that one time in the hospital…

"I can assure you that I am real, Christopher. And alive." The lightly accented voice now contained amusement at his panic, typical of that conceited prick—

But he wasn't _alive_. He couldn't be. Chris had seen him plunge into the damn volcano, had seen those crimson eyes widen seconds before the RPGs slammed into him—

"No." Chris's voice sounded flat, dead. He was backed up against the wall in front of the illusion that was Albert Wesker, who at the tone of his voice stood still. But even if the blonde had continued to move, Chris would have refused to budge. Because if there was anything that Chris knew would _never _change, it was the fact that the man before him was dead.

It had all ended six months ago in Africa.

Nothing could change that. Chris had learned that the hard way.

"You're dead." Chris forced himself to meet the gaze of his former S.T.A.R.S captain, at the man he once trusted his life with once upon a lifetime ago. His hands were clenched up in trembling fists as Chris repeated in an anguished voice, "You're _dead_, Wesker. You died in Africa."

Broken. Chris had the eyes of a broken man. Pain screamed from those blue depths, begging for a reprieve from the personal hell that was his mind. After that first month following Africa, Chris had stopped dreaming about his former captain, saving the young man from torturing himself even more than he already did during his waking moments. He thought he was past this, past the fact that Wesker would only trouble him in memory, not in his sleep.

But the blonde man in front of him, watching him quietly, proved Chris wrong.

"Wake up." Chris felt his chest constricting painfully, threatening to burst from lack of air. His throat burned from the lump that refused to slide down his throat, the fire spreading to his chest and threatening to take his eyes hostage.

"Just wake up damnit!" Chris slammed his fist onto the floor, pain blooming on his knuckles as blood seeped from split skin.

The fact that he could feel pain should have been indicator enough that Chris was conscious, but the distraught man could only focus on feeling terror.

_A panic attack? _Wesker thought, watching the brunette struggle to wake himself up. Or perhaps signs of PTSD, if Chris was shying away from a reminder of Africa. It didn't occur to the blonde that his very presence was what had Chris in a frenzy to wake up, that it was because Chris couldn't deal with the part of Africa in which he killed Wesker that had the younger man so desperate to avoid any memory of the blonde.

"Christopher." Wesker was in front of the frightened man by now and knelt down so that they were at eye level, if Chris were looking at him. "Look at me."

Chris felt a cool hand grip his chin and lift his face to gaze into irritated grey eyes. The brunette flinched and tried to move away but a second hand pressed his shoulder into the wall behind him, successfully keeping him still.

So Chris shut his eyes, vainly hoping that if he couldn't see Wesker, then the unwanted hallucination would eventually disappear. It just had to. Hadn't he been through enough? Hadn't he lost enough?

Opening his eyes would reveal his deepest desires, because that's what dreams did, right? They presented what the subconscious longed for, thirsted for, and after everything the man had done, after everything that Chris had done to compensate for these feelings that _shouldn't_ exist…nothing had changed.

And now that Wesker was gone, it never would.

"Do I need to pry your eyes open in order for you to do as ordered, Redfield?" a low voice snapped. "Because if so, I can guarantee that you will _not_ find it enjoyable."

_You sound just like him. _Chris felt something inside of him break at that thought. Even if it was some freaky dream, Chris knew that when he woke up, the sense of loss would be just as crippling, overpowering his mind and body until he was nothing but a shell, having to start over from the tidal wave of memories that would slam into him. Because he would be reminded once again that no matter how much good he did and had accomplished all these years, in the end he would never be happy. Not without the man who had started it all.

Chris wasn't sure if he could deal with it again.

In fact, he knew he _couldn't_.

Wesker saw the brunette's lips moving frantically, mumbling the mantra, "wakeupwakeup". The theory that this was heading in the same direction as the time when Wesker betrayed S.T.A.R.S and first 'died' was becoming more plausible by the second. Not that Wesker had been there to see the trauma in its entirety, it was only until later that he had seen the complete toll of the events leading up to the mansion incident on Chris mentally and emotionally. Even he had to admit that it had not looked pretty. Were it not for his comrades and sister, Chris would not have recovered as much as he had to the point of being able to pursue the Tyrant when he reappeared, and even then, the blonde knew that the former marksman was still haunted by _then._

And now that Chris cut himself off from family and friends almost immediately after Africa…

"Why can't I wake up?" Chris's voice cracked and when the brunette finally opened his eyes, the watery depths were glistening in agony.

Before Wesker could respond, the younger man grabbed his wrist, tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping Chris from falling apart. Cold shaking fingers dug into firm pale flesh, grounding him in the insanity that had to be a dream.

A dream and nothing more.

"God." The voice that whispered this was raw, every emotion clawing at the sides of his throat to rush out was loaded in that one word.

Wesker didn't look away and kept his eyes fixed on the younger man's, waiting…

"You think I don't wish—" Chris caught his breath and tears swept his face, now emphasizing the gaunt, ashy complexion that looked entirely wrong on the man usually suntanned and bursting with life. With blurry vision, Chris allowed himself to believe that Wesker really was right there in front of him, and once his vision fully cleared, then he could go back to the bitch that was reality.

"You think I don't wish you were alive?" His voice rose, retaining its brokenness, hiding the silent prayer underneath the anguish pouring out. "You think I don't regret what I did?"

And he did. Every single day, and it was the reminder of what could have been the alternative for the world that kept Chris hating himself for even wanting the blonde man to have survived.

"But I had to." Chris's voice fell back to a murmur. "I've already fucked up so much, Wesker…I've already stood by and let this shit start. The least I could do was end it." He shook his head and laughed weakly. "But it'll never end, will it? Someone new is going to take over from where you left off and it'll start all over again."

Chris knew it would never end. His fight to keep the world safe for his little sister would never meet a peaceful conclusion, and part of him felt relieved by that, because what was there for him if it all really ended? Nothing, that's what. Everyone had their goals and plans to build a family, including his sis, and Chris? He'd come back to an empty apartment, just like he did every night, regardless of whether he stuck with the security guard job or rejoined his team when it all started again.

It was only a matter of time until he died and really, death in battle was appropriate. Fighting, it was all he had left. Without the struggle, without an enemy to eliminate, Chris was nothing. He had nothing to live for and to him, the fact that he had only visited the hospital once for the reason he did was surprising. Then again, wasn't the reason he always dove headfirst into danger the same as his reason for coming to the hospital with self-inflicted injuries? It was all the same thing, except on missions, Chris had the cloak of fighting to protect and complete the mission as a disguise.

Christopher Redfield once believed that there was something else besides saving the world from Umbrella to live for. Christopher Redfield once thought that someday, somewhere along the line as he fought the man who had betrayed him, died and rose again, someday, he would get through to him and somehow find a way to have what they once had, before all of hell broke loose. Or at the very least, tell him what he had never dared to say before, for fear of confirming long buried feelings best left lying six feet under—

"You were right, Wesker." A bitter smile touched Chris's lips briefly. "I am pathetic. How the hell did I mange to kill you?"

"Luck, and the use of RPGs." Wesker answered, rolling his eyes behind his ever present sunglasses. "As well as close contact with an active volcano's interior."

"Right." Chris nodded and more tears washed across his vision, the hot liquid mirroring the burning pain in his chest at the familiar voice and its dry tone.

"Of course, all the luck in the world and advanced weaponry is no match for me, Christopher." Wesker told him with a smirk. As if sensing it, the brunette closed his eyes again and without warning (again), he leaned forward into the captured wrist that kept his face still to inhale the scent that was familiar everywhere, but no longer existed outside of dreams and memories.

Grey eyes widened a fraction at the movement and a flicker rippled in their cold exterior before smoothing out to their usual cool state.

"Yeah," Chris mumbled, almost nostalgically, nuzzling unconsciously into the palm that moved from gripping his chin to cupping the side of his face with gentle fingers. "I wish…" his throat tightened. "That it had been true…in real life."

A shaky sigh could be heard from the former marksman and Wesker slowly slid the hand keeping Chris pinned to the wall to the other side of his face and lifted it up, leaving only two and a half inches of space between their lips.

"Tell me Christopher," Wesker murmured, feeling the younger man tremble from their closeness. "What is it about my presence that disturbs you, besides the fact that I should be dead?"

Chris swallowed and shook his head.

Wesker moved his head closer, feeling almost completely certain that he knew exactly why, but for the first time in a long time, hesitant to test his theory. Upon Wesker's return from 'death' the first time, the blonde was aware that any personal feelings Chris may have held for him in the past were now overpowered by the desire to stop the Tyrant from conquering the world. The battles they had both fought were full with the intent to kill. They were brutal, and they were bloody, and more often than not, innocent people died, including Redfield's comrades. This was what was meant by hatred, this was what insured that Chris Redfield would never stop his fight against Albert Wesker… but it never meant that the former marksman of Alpha team had ceased to care about the former S.T.A.R.S captain at all.

"I never got to say goodbye."

Wesker froze and stared at Chris, who held back a sob at the last word.

"You just left and died. Again and again. But I never got to say goodbye." Chris's throat was choked up with emotion. He could barely speak, but fuck, he needed to get this out of his system, even if it was in his imagination.

"I never got to tell you that I-" Chris found his words cut off by the pressure of Wesker's lips on his own.

It was _heaven_.

It was _hell_.

It was _real._

__It couldn't _be. _

_It just couldn't._ Chris tried to pull away, to shove back the ghost of the man he had never stopped thinking about, never completely. But the hands that tried to shove back the owner of the white t-shirt came into contact with warm hard muscle. They ended up sliding past Wesker's well toned body (_it felt so real_) and up around his neck, locking themselves to bring Chris up close against the one person his heart, mind, and body could never forget. No matter how much he tried.

"Wesker." Chris breathed, his voice almost a gasp as the blonde bit down on his lower lip and took advantage of the parted lips to lightly run his tongue across the inside of Chris's mouth.

The brunette lost himself in the warmth of the man he hadn't seen for sixth months and hadn't touched in this way for _years_, loving the way that hands capable of twisting his neck now held his face close, softly stroking his skin as if to prove through touch that everything was real. Without thinking, Chris slid his legs around Wesker's waist and bit back a moan when the blonde lifted him up to secure the brunette's hold on him, hands trailing lightly across his ass then digging into denim for a too brief moment. Chris ground against the blonde, protesting the loss of the hands and heard the ghost of a chuckle as Wesker slammed the brunette against the wall and renewed his hold on Chris's face with gentle hands, contrasting against the violent kisses he delivered.

Part of Chris reminded him that it was a damn dream, that _none _of this was real and when he woke up, he'd be in for a hell of a surprise. And it was that part that finally led Chris to accept that it was a beautiful lie and he'd make use of it while it lasted.

Where was the harm?

But then what little remained of Chris's heart shattered and he finally shoved Wesker back and dropped back onto the ground to lean heavily against the wall. His heart raced at how unbelievingly real it all felt, the blood rushing in his body, the warmth and Wesker's intoxicating smell, the bruised feeling on his lips…

Grey eyes narrowed as Chris leaned forward and buried his face into the blonde's neck. He then felt the brunette's arms wrap around his waist tightly, as if fearing that the older man would vanish at any moment. Wesker could feel the tremors running through Chris's body and knew that despite the kiss (very well, kisses), the younger man refused to believe that this was real.

Chris breathed in Wesker's smell, refreshingly cool and clean, yet warm from the body heat he radiated. His nose touched smooth, unmarked flesh that moved as the blonde swallowed and Chris smiled sadly. He'd take this dream over reality, even if it was under strange circumstances like being kidnapped and brought to what had to be an experimental facility. But all of this had to be some twisted dream influenced by the Umbrella facilities he had visited during missions.

And then he felt the proof that told him it really was a dream, and tears fell, unchecked, soaking through cotton material into the skin underneath that belonged to his illusion.

Wesker lifted his arms and rested them on Chris's shaking back in a loose embrace. He lifted his eyes to the upper right corner of his cell, aware of the watchful eyes on him. The blonde man told himself that there was a reason for why he was comforting the man in front of him, that he would later find a motive for wanting to preserve his arch nemesis's sanity. Perhaps he could use Christopher as a diversion or as part of a plan to leave this place…

Wesker told himself that he would dwell on this later. Right now—

The arms tightened around Chris and pressed the brunette's body closer against the one he clung to.

"I don't care anymore." Chris sighed and tightened his hold on his beautiful lie. "Just let me stay here…just a little longer…before I have to say goodbye…"

Wesker rested his head on Chris's, silently offering his reply. He felt the shaking slowly cease, the wetness on his chest stop growing, and the laboured breathing even out into the deeper breaths of a sleeping person.

All the while, grey eyes maintained their indifference, save for the flickers of something as they gazed into the distance, sifting through memories of a time when things were simpler, even for him.

**A/N: Ah. Hope Wesker and Chris weren't too OoC. If they were, I apologize, seeing as how Chris hasn't seen Wesker in over six months and to see him, just like that…I love sad Chris…**

**(Evil chuckle) Do not, and I repeat, do not, expect another scene like that too soon, people. There's only so much fluff Weskie is up to doing and Chris isn't the type to fall apart every time with Wesker. But do not fear, there will be more soon enough :)**

**:) Feedback and reviews are always appreciated, good people:) Thanks for the support everyone, you guys are the best! (waves piece of carrot cake) Until next update, bye bye! :)**


	6. Chapter 5: Family

**Ahem…**** 17 Reviews! Whoo hoo! Now. Onto business.**

**AN: OC, or Original Characters. Love them, hate them, use them sparingly, or be generous with the servings? Hm. For me, I need them, if only have a larger cast of characters that will move the story forward while they make sense for being there in the first place. Therefore, Adrian and his men for one, will be important to the story, hence their large presence in this chapter. No, there will not be a love triangle, none of that stuff…unless you want it in there…(evil/hopeful smile)**

**Warning: ****Nothing. Consider last chapter all Chris & Wesker, this one all Adrian & 3 T's…and some Claire. Hope you got enough Chris and Wesker though from the last chapter to tide you over to when they pop up again next chapter. **

**By the way, I don't know much about technology so pardon any mistakes I make. And please pardon my lateness. There has been some…technical difficulties. ****  
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><strong>**Disclaimer: ****Gah! As much as I'd love to own RE and Wesker and Chris and make them my personal driver and butler, alas, I cannot. I do not own them. But I do own Adrian, the triple Ts, and of course, Jean. Yay… **

**Chapter Five:**

**Family**

Night fell quickly upon the facility. Within white walls, white ceiling lights and air conditioners hummed quietly. Corridors extended for what seemed like miles in silence, empty of the pitter-patter of feet hurrying to go to an office, an elevator, or a laboratory. Almost all activity had ceased within the Generation facility… except for the music pouring out of a small radio on top of a table inside a room occupied by one person.**  
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Adrian watched the flickering screen inside the vacant surveillance room. It was his usual post after everyone else had departed for their homes, in some cases their offices in order to jot down some notes on a previous exercise or lab experiment.

At the moment, the solitary mercenary had deemed it a good decision on his part to review the current day's tapes, especially for the tapes recording Albert Wesker's cell.

"Chris Redfield's cell as well." The merc corrected himself in a murmur. Green eyes watched with muted interest as Redfield had retreated to the back of the cell upon seeing Wesker. The blonde eventually reached him, and the merc saw for himself how deeply injured the brunette's mental and emotional state was by the way in which Redfield had suddenly grabbed Wesker's arm, as if he were a drowning man. And to Adrian he was, drowning in a sea of emotion that had gradually built up over the years of interacting with the blonde man, his arch nemesis…his former lover?

"What do we have here?" Adrian asked, face vexed as he saw the older blonde man kiss the younger one with a gentleness that would astound anyone and everyone who interacted with Wesker. Just as surprising was the fact that Chris didn't break away and only moved closer to weld himself to the other man's body and it wasn't until they had pressed up against the wall that Adrian saw the younger man break away.

But it was only for a short while.

As if bidding a sweet dream adieu, Redfield grabbed onto Wesker and surprisingly enough, the blonde allowed him to, going so far as to actually embrace the brunette back…as if to comfort him…as if he cared about the other man's mental and emotional state of being.

Adrian knew that it was too early in Chris's appearance in the facility for Wesker to have already established ulterior motives for caring for Redfield in this manner. The raven haired merc knew that the blonde had been genuinely surprised to have seen the younger man in the cell and perhaps it was this particular reaction that Generation had been searching for. The video feed had in short, exposed a potential weakness for the blond Tyrant.

And Adrian was the only person so far who had seen it.

The merc's light sigh broke the silence in the room. Adrian knew that there was the correct thing to do (according to Generation and his _job_), and the right thing to do (according to his instinct). In the end, it was this video that may have just given him the perfect playing piece in his own mission regarding Generation…and it also offered him more insight into who Albert Wesker and Christopher Redfield was. So it was these two former reasons that Adrian used for why he did what he did next, and not anything to do with his beliefs or worse, _emotions_.

Adrian inserted a small silver flash drive into the monitor that connected with the video feed. Quickly, and with assurance of someone familiar with technology, the mercenary downloaded the video of the previous hours events in the cell that the two men occupied. As soon as that task was finished, Adrian deleted the video from the surveillance room's system and uploaded a copy of a previous night's video which only showed a sleeping Wesker. Once done, Adrian tucked his flash drive into the secret pocket of his jacket and stared at the new loop feed.

Would everyone be willing to believe that Redfield was asleep in the bottom bunk, a place that kept any occupants hidden away from the camera?

With Wesker as a cellmate, it was more than possible and the mercenary pinned his hopes on the blonde's controlling personality and the need to dominate, even when it came to material possessions.

"Let's hope you're predictable enough for this at least," Adrian muttered and cocked his head to the side when he heard heavy footsteps.

"Hey boss," Trent's voice boomed in the silent space and Adrian had to repress the urge to smack his subordinate (gently, of course) upside the head. He would never truly grow accustomed to the man's loud nature, but he more than made up for it with his skills with firearms.

"Yes, Trent?" Adrian asked, keeping his voice deadly calm. It was the only indicator that he was irritated with the firearms expert.

"Ted and I just got back from visiting Terry." Trent told him, eyes running over the screens monitoring all of Generation's facility. _Boy, I sure as hell don't envy the boss, _he thought with a twinge of sympathy. Personally, he couldn't sit still for more than twenty minutes, as a result, he was always left to patrol the outside of the facility or the cell area instead of keeping an eye on the monitors.

"Oh?" The curiosity in Adrian's voice wasn't forced this time. "How is Terry?"

"A-OK and ready to roll out day after tomorrow, sir." Trent replied with a chuckle. "He's madder than hell that's he locked up for the next couple of days for observation. Says he can't wait, thinks we're gonna crash the van or something."

"I don't blame him." Adrian had spun around to look at his subordinate and stood up to stretch. Bright green eyes took notice of the dark circles underneath Trent's eyes and knew the loyal man was waiting to be dismissed for the night. As would Ted, were it not for the redhead staying overnight to keep an eye on the youngest of the group.

The usually coolly observing face softened at the closeness between his men, a closeness that spoke of family though they were of different blood. Their ages however, were close enough, and so was their sense of duty in fulfilling their jobs. Duty was second to loyalty, and Adrian knew that soon he would have to reveal to his men what he had just done.

"You should turn in now, Trent." Adrian said, seeing the man stifle a yawn.

"What about you, boss?" He asked, trying to act alert. "Shouldn't your shift have ended hours ago?"

"That doesn't concern you," Trent's boss replied with a faint smile. "Shouldn't you have turned in four hours ago?"

Adrian smirked as Trent muttered something about driving Ted to the hospital and taking over his shift, followed by something about not being dismissed.

"Well then." Adrian said, resting a gloved hand on his comrade. "You're dismissed, Trent. Good night."

Trent gave his superior a nod and was about to turn around to leave when he stopped, as if remembering something.

"Adrian." Trent's voice was quieter now, more serious.

"Yes?"

"Are you gonna want a lift to see Terry tomorrow?" Trent asked, watching his boss carefully. "You haven't debriefed him yet."

It was true. Adrian had to juggle different responsibilities as new Head of Security at Generation besides being commander of the combat teams. It didn't help that other than his men, the others were complete fools in combat without heavy weaponry, rendering them useless in missions where stealth was necessary, such as the one that included retrieving Christopher Redfield. Then again, Adrian admitted, he was biased.

The fact that one of his own was injured and had been taken to a local hospital (which was further than one may think) rather than the facility's clinic had raised some questions, leaving Adrian with little time to debrief his team individually, and none at all with Terry. It was only the excuse that he needed a contact on the outside to take care of any witnesses that saved him from any more scrutiny. After all, Adrian was well known for his lethal methods in dealing with eyewitnesses, and if Generation wanted to continue to prosper in secret, then it would allow the Head of Security to do whatever he needed and wanted to do.

"I would greatly appreciate it, Trent." Adrian said with a warm smile. "I'll be here when it's time."

"Okay." Trent nodded, happy that his boss was planning on visiting their teammate. But more importantly, it meant that they would all be out of the facility for a couple of hours.

Now, the firearms expert was aware that there were things going on here that were highly illegal, nothing new to him. The disturbing part was the fact that Adrian hadn't told them all about what was going on, which meant one of two things. Either Adrian didn't know and knew as much as they did, or Adrian knew and was withholding information from them in order to keep them safe.

Needless to say, neither option boded well.

"G'night boss." Trent said, refusing to lose precious hours of sleep over this. After all, he trusted his superior and there was always the next morning to figure out things over a cup of coffee. Hopefully breakfast too.

"Goodnight." Adrian waited for Trent's heavy footsteps to leave before returning to his post, and sighed at the thought of facing the curiosity of three men tomorrow, three men who knew when he was hiding something.

Adrian's eyes flickered over the screens devoid of activity and decided to make himself a cup of coffee. It would help keep him awake and plan out an execution plan should Redfield's friend decide to sing a little too soon…as well as future plans involving two very interesting men….

* * *

><p>The morning brought no relief for all parties involved, except for the youngest Redfield. But it was only because she didn't know that the world that had already spun and landed in an upside down position was going to spin once again.<p>

The drawn curtains didn't tolerate even a sliver of light inside the small and usually bright kitchen. So when Claire walked in to make herself some coffee, darkness greeted her at seven in the morning, when usually rays of weak sunshine would filter through the crack in the curtains and provide a natural light. This time, Claire had to flick the switch and the kitchen seemed to warm up instantly as darkness was banished for the day.

The redhead yawned as she poured coffee grounds into the paper thin filter, and was sliding the top into place when the shrill ringing of the telephone snapped her into alertness.

A phone call at this hour?

Years of paranoia, and an instinct sharpened over the years of fighting Umbrella told Claire that this call would not be a happy one. Part of her wanted to ignore the phone, to hold off on hearing about the latest devious plot to take over the world using biological weapons, but…Wesker was _gone, _and in her opinion, _no one_could be worse than him.

"Maybe it's a machine." Claire mumbled hopefully and shook her head when the ringing renewed, sounding more desperate than the last time.

_Or maybe…it was Chris?_

* * *

><p>"Morning, boss." Trent greeted, pausing in the middle of the surveillance room. His casual outfit, black t-shirt and navy jeans hid the fact that he was a Generation employee, which was exactly what he wanted. Brown hair was carefully brushed down to the back of his neck, giving him the look of a man attempting to look his Sunday best.<p>

"Good morning, Trent." Adrian greeted, the twitch of his lips the only indication that he had taken in the brunette's appearance. He himself had dressed in a long-sleeved black collared shirt, neatly pressed and ironed to go with his black jeans and a cleaner pair of boots. Like his preference for men, Adrian did not hide his preference for wearing black, another thing he had in common with the infamous Albert Wesker…

"I think I've just been turned off the color forever." Adrian muttered with a shake of his head.

"What was that, sir?" Trent asked curiously.

"Nothing." Adrian assured him. "Let's go."

But first, he was going to change into another shirt.

"How are you feeling, Terry?" Adrian asked, sitting down in a chair reserved for visitors.

The fake cheerfulness of the hospital was drawing on his nerves, as was the white color of the small private room Terry was recovering in. But his teammate needed him and Adrian wasn't about to let him down over this.

At least the chair was comfortable. And the large window did offer a lovely view of the parking lot, where beetle sized cars were stationed in parking spaces and ant sized people milled about, some dressed in their work uniforms.

"Fine boss." Terry replied, dark eyes thoughtful as a hand came to scratch at the black beard he was beginning to grow. "Sure could use a shave though."

"Perhaps when you leave the hospital." Adrian said patiently, ignoring the rolling eyes of Trent. Ted was sleeping on the other unoccupied chair, red hair flattened over his eyes as quiet snores kept the room from being too silent. Had the redhead been awake, he would have also rolled his eyes and began lecturing on how a concussion should have been of more concern to the man, not his beard. It was amusing in a way, to see the usually docile medic lose his temper and yell for hours on end about taking care of one's health.

As a result, the men took great care not to become injured during missions. Or sick, though Ted did make fantastic chicken noodle soup.

"Terry, can you recall what happened with Mr. Redfield?" Adrian asked, taking a tape recorder from Trent with a nod. It was already on and Adrian set it on the table next to Terry's bed before turning his full attention on his subordinate.

"Sure." Terry said easily and added slowly, "He's a strange guy, for starters."

"How so?" Adrian inquired, relaxed at knowing that Terry usually had a point to his thoughts.

Usually.

"Well…I reckon a guy like him, running for his life and all, since I don't suppose he knew we had to capture him, would have put a bullet through my head 'stead of just whacking me on the head."

"Pistol whipped you." Trent said gleefully, from his new post near the front door. "Redfield better not have shot you, Ter. I would've given him a new hole to-"

"Trent. Thank you." Adrian said calmly and the brunette gave his superior a lazy salute before returning his attention to the people passing by the room in the hallway.

"Well, whatever he did," Terry shrugged. "He didn't kill me. Thought he would've. I saw that look in his eyes, a look that said he's seen too much and was sick of it all. And he'd do anything to get the hell out."

A thoughtful silence overtook all three men as they recalled the instances in their lives when they too, had borne that look. The look of a killer.

"First thing he said," Terry broke the silence. "Was to get out of the car, or my brains would be decorating the dashboard, somethin' like that."

Trent snorted. "What brains?"

"Then he said to get down on my knees and when I took a swipe at him with my knife-"

"Terry." Adrian said with surprise, and even Trent's mouth dropped a little at the violent move. A violent _quick_move from the younger man.

"He 'pistol whipped' me. And I conked out. Don't remember much after that. Next thing I know, I wake up here with Ted snoring in the chair." Terry offered Adrian an apologetic smile. "Sorry to cause ya trouble, boss."

"No need to apologize, Terry." Adrian said easily. "I am glad you were not seriously hurt."

"But you could've been." A sleepy voice muttered. Blue green eyes snapped open to glare at the youngest man in the group. "Next time, someone's staying with you."

"But-" Terry began to protest and turned to Adrian. "Adrian, I can handle being on my own. Really." His usually calm voice took on a childishly whiny note and Trent broke out grinning at the argument that was sure to break out.

"Children." Adrian said sternly and the men ceased their bickering. "We can discuss this later. _When _Terry rejoins us tomorrow. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." The two men replied sullenly.

"Wait." Terry's eyes narrowed. "Who's driving my van?"

"I am." Adrian replied with a not quite angelic smile.

"Oh." Terry nodded slowly, the relaxed air slipping into place again. "I suppose that's alright. As long as Trent doesn't take the wheel, 'cause he'd end up wrecking my baby. And she's my spare one."

"Actually, I got your real baby back." Trent said with another grin. "Found the girl's place and after bugging her phone, I drove it back."

"Then how did you get there in the—" Ted broke off at the mischievous spark in his teammate's eye. "You know what? Don't tell me."

_Good call. _Adrian and Terry thought. Trent had the habit of getting what he wanted through a variety of means of persuasion. No one in the group was interested in what, exactly.

"I owe ya one." Terry said and Trent nodded in a 'damn straight' way.

Adrian had turned off the recorder and stood up, Ted sleepily following suit.

"Thank you, Terry." Adrian said, with warmth to the injured man. "We'll be here to pick you up as soon as possible tomorrow, so try and get some rest."

"Yes sir." Terry yawned. "You're welcome sir."

"I'll drop by later tonight." Trent said, when Adrian gave him the go ahead nod.

"Great." Terry said dryly, but his lit up expression betrayed his true feelings, which didn't surprise anyone.

Being alone at night wasn't something they liked anymore. It was something that deep inside, they feared, even Adrian who spent more time alone than any of his other comrades. At least he knew Trent or Drake was nearby, but in a hospital filled with nothing but strangers? It was the reason for why Ted had stayed the night before.

"See ya later." Terry waved to his departing teammates and friends before calling a nurse for a razor to shave his beard with.

* * *

><p>"I forgot to mention," Ted said, once they had piled into the white van.<p>

"Yes?" Adrian asked. He pulled on his seatbelt and turned to the medic.

"Nice shirt."

Trent snorted and Adrian shot the firearms expert a withering look.

"Thank you." He said, glancing at the dark red t-shirt he wore. It was plain and fit him perfectly, just the way he liked it.

"The girl's calling." Trent said, hearing a hushed female voice begin talking cautiously to another woman from a cell phone. The moment the former hostage made a call, Trent received a message and was now listening in, and pressed the button for the speakerphone so the others could listen in as well.

Adrian sighed. "I was hoping she would listen." He said under his breath. Next to him Ted lifted up a hand.

"You never said anything about calling his family, did you?" The redhead asked.

"No…" Adrian said slowly, green eyes widened in realization, or so the medic thought. "I didn't."

**AN:Ah, Adrian. Screwed up there, my merc friend :) I apologize for the lack of Wesker and Chris interaction, but that ****will ****come next chapter. Pinky promise! Also, I've never written Claire before, though I have seen more of her from the RE movies and fanfic when I first started reading it…anyone remember ****Guess Who? ****Loved that fanfic! Have any of you seen the RE movies? What do you think of them?**

**Thank you all for your continued support, whether it's through alerts, reviews, or silent reading! You guys are the best and the reason why this story continues week after week.**

**Feedback is welcome, like always. And I'd love to hear about what you think about Original Characters, Out of Characters, Wesker's real eye color, and anything else on your mind.**

**Again, I apologize for the lateness. I cannot guarantee an update next week because again, there are technical difficulties (can't get access to the damn internet). Though I do have the next chapter written.**

**So, until next time (Raises coffee cup in one hand, croissant in the other) Bye bye! :)**


	7. Chapter 6: A Strange Morning Part 1

**AN: ****Is it just me, or are things getting more complicated? I looked back on the first three chapters and think, wow. It was a simpler time then…**

**Anywho, Chris and Wesker are back. Promise! They'll make up the later part of this chapter so enjoy! :)**

*******Shout out to ****mw****! Thanks so much for your reviews, and I hope you read this since I couldn't PM you!  
><strong>

**Disclaimer:****(Sigh) I do NOT own Resident Evil. Or Wesker. Or Chris. Or Claire. I need a cup of coffee now…**

**Chapter Six:**

**A Strange Morning Part 1**

"I'm sorry, wait. Who are you again?" Claire's present frown only grew as the hushed and very scared voice of a woman claiming to be Chris's friend repeated herself.

"My name is Jean Wirth. I work at the same hospital Chris Redfield does. Are you his sister, Claire?"

"Yeah, I am…but," Claire shook her head, bewildered. "My brother doesn't work in a hospital. He's not a doctor." The image of her big brother trying to treat a patient or perform surgery with hands more suited for guns and throwing punches was too ridiculous to keep imagining.

A shaky laugh seemed to concur with her thoughts.

"No. Chris works as a security guard." Jean said and Claire was tempted to smack her forehead.

Of course he'd take up a job that involved law enforcement. Claire shook her head, awed that her older brother really did follow through with what he said and was moving on with his life. Though it was strange that one of his friends was calling…

_Oh god._

"Is Chris alright?" Claire asked, the confusion in her voice replaced with fear. "Is he hurt? Did he get sick?"

Her mind flashed back to the message left on her machine the day before.

_"Hey Claire, it's me. I…uh…know it's been a while, but I just wanted to see if you were okay…Yeah, um…that's it. I'll call you later, alright? And if you see Jill around, tell her I said hi." _Here, Chris had cleared his throat and Claire knew that he was trying to reign in any excess emotions.

_"Love you, Claire." _Then he hung up.  
><em><br>_The call was out of the blue. Any other time, perhaps back _then, _Claire would have thought of the call as just that, a call from her older brother who missed her as much as she missed him. But the Chris of _now _only called if there was an emergency, and while he hadn't mentioned anything bad happening, she knew from the hesitant way he spoke that something was wrong.

Really wrong.

On the other side of the line, Jean shook her head sadly. This was just wrong. This, this couldn't be happening. It was already apparent to her that Chris didn't maintain much contact with his younger sister, and now that there was some contact, it was to tell his sibling bad news.

But it was the only way Jean could think of helping her friend. At the very least, his family and friends at home would know, and in a couple of hours, the authorities would know as well.

Claire's hand tightened around her coffee mug, the liquid inside cold from having been ignored since she had answered the phone. The silence on the other end was unnerving, disturbing, and part of Claire was terrified at what she might hear next.

Finally Jean spoke.

"Your brother and I were on our way to lunch," She began, her voice shaking on the last word. "When this white van came to a stop between us and these men dressed in black came out with guns…"

By the end, Claire was sitting down at her table and shaking her head in disbelief.

"I…I just can't believe this." The redhead murmured, finally releasing her hold on her coffee mug.

She really couldn't. How was it possible that anyone could find Chris when she had been searching for him for months? Why would anyone besides her do so in the first place? Umbrella was destroyed, and Wesker was dead and gone!

Why couldn't they just leave her brother alone?

"Neither can I, to be honest." Jean said, her voice calmer now that she had gotten her story out. "But it happened and I'm worried about what they may be doing to Chris right now. Those men were professional mercenaries, Claire."

"How do you know?" Claire asked, although she had guessed the same thing.

"They knew what they were doing, at least the men who had taken me." Jean said firmly. "Besides, I don't think random kidnappers use a logo on their bulletproof vests."

"Logo?" Claire straightened up in alarm. _Please don't let it be…_she mentally pleaded. "What logo?"

There was silence on the other end as Jean tried to remember. "It was really small. And blue." Claire heard the older woman snap her fingers in triumph. "A raindrop!"

"A raindrop." Claire repeated, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. _Thank god it's not them, _she thought, relief temporarily overriding the confusion.

"Or teardrop. It's open to interpretation I guess," Jean said, shrugging on the other side.

Claire nodded in agreement before remembering that the other woman couldn't see her. "Right."

"I'm really sorry that I couldn't help your brother more, Claire." Jean said, her voice subdued. The guilt hadn't left her ever since she saw Chris willingly turn himself in to set Jean free. After wallowing in misery and guilt the whole night, Jean decided to put the guilt to good use and use the loophole her captor hadn't thought of when he gave her the warning. Not that telling Chris's sister was accomplishing much besides ruining the younger Redfield's morning. But it was a start and maybe Claire knew someone who could help.

"It's not your fault, Jean." Claire said with a wan smile. "Chris is the kind of person who would never hesitate to protect others. And he must trust you a lot to have given you my number in case something happened."

The brunette flushed and peered down at the memo pad next to Chris's house phone. The only reason she had even been able to enter his apartment in the first place was because his landlord had given her a spare key. And that was only because she had lied about Chris being too sick to answer the door.

"Yeah…" Was all Jean said in reply.

"And you were brave too. Instead of freaking out you found a way to get around the kidnapper's demands. And you're still trying to help Chris instead of running away and pretending it never happened." Claire continued.

Jean certainly didn't feel brave. "I don't know what else to do." She admitted, remembering lying to Chris's boss about his absence from work. After the incident, the hospital had been 'informed' that the presence of armed men was merely a military exercise. Everyone had bought the flimsy excuse and Jean was beginning to think that money had been involved. "After I inform the police later on, I won't be able to do much."

"But I will." Claire told her confidently. "And as soon as I arrive over there in—where do you live anyway?"

"California."

Claire's mouth dropped open. "Whoa." She muttered, but continued on in a louder voice. "Well, as soon as I arrive there with a friend, we can all work together to rescue Chris."

Despite the confidence in Claire's voice, Jean remained unconvinced. Part of her knew that the police wouldn't be able to save him, so what could three people do? But she had to remain positive, Jean reminded herself. She had to do everything in her power to help Chris.

"Right." Jean said, trying to inject confidence into her voice. "Do you want me to give you the address?" she asked.

"Please." Claire quickly jotted down the address and mentally began a list of what she would have to prepare for the trip besides informing Jill and asking about the merc's logo. For now, the BSAA couldn't find out since it wasn't twenty-four hours yet and she didn't want Jean to get killed. But as soon as that time was up…it was go time.

"Okay, thanks." She said, when she was done. "I'll call you as soon as I book a flight." She quickly said bye and hung up, letting the silence descend once more on the kitchen.

"Oh Chris." She sighed. Her hand curled up in a fist and she bit her lip. "It's not fair."

_A lot of things in life aren't, sis. It's up to us to balance things out._

And they did, for a while. But Chris didn't get to enjoy the newfound peace and had left everyone behind in order to escape what had happened for the past several years. And now that things were out of balance, Chris was on his own and away from support. At least Wesker and Umbrella weren't involved this time around, and for that Claire was grateful.

"If we were able to survive and stop them, then we can do anything." Claire told herself firmly and reached for the phone again to call Jill.

* * *

><p>"Ah, crap."<p>

_You could say that again. _Adrian thought grimly. Should the younger Redfield decide to involve the BSAA too quickly, then they would very quickly run short on time for their real mission. And Generation would be quick to act too and would proceed to shut down their operation here, but not before eliminating the Redfields, their friends, and Wesker first.

_I hope the sister is as honorable. _Adrian thought. He really didn't want to kill any more than was necessary, not out of concern necessarily for people's lives but because it was so _time consuming_, killing, then hiding the bodies in a out of the way place where they could safely decompose for a week or two before being discovered. Not to mention that it would interfere with his job at the facility and his plans…

"Boss?" Trent asked, shaking the older man out of his thoughts. "You okay?"

"Yes, Trent." Adrian reassured him and sighed. "I want surveillance on Jean's apartment the moment Claire Redfield and her friend arrives. I will need a daily report and taps on all their phones if possible, as well as a tracker on their vehicles."

"Yes, sir." Trent and Ted said.

"I will also need more information about Claire Redfield and Jill Valentine and their current involvement with the BSAA." Adrian added. "We have some information as to their relationship with Chris Redfield, but I know we did not go into much detail."

"Yes sir."

Ted watched his superior carefully, concerned at the suddenly weary look on Adrian's usually indifferent face.

"Sir, you don't intend on eliminating them?" He asked, though it wasn't really said as a question.

"No." Adrian admitted. "It wouldn't help in securing Chris's trust, and there could be further use for them in the future. These are the people who took Umbrella down after all."

Trent gawked at the raven haired man. "Seriously?"

"Yes." Ted said impatiently. "You would've known that but you were too 'busy' taking a smoking break."

"Hey, I knew the older Redfield and Valentine was involved, alright?" Trent said defensively. "I just thought he would've made his little sis stay at home. God knows I would've done the same if I had one."

"Apparently she's as stubborn as her brother." Adrian told him and shrugged. "I assume the need to save others runs in the family."

"In any case," Adrian started the car and pulled out of the parking spot. "We will worry about that later, when contact between the two is made again. We'll know when Redfield's sister arrives with Valentine then."

And with that plan made, Adrian changed the subject to breakfast, something that dominated the trio until they agreed to go to Denny's and arrived there with only one mission: Coffee and food. It was a time when their jobs were rarely discussed and their personal lives became exactly that, personal, and unshadowed by Generation or any missions that were waiting to be completed.

* * *

><p>There were no nightmares.<p>

For the first time in what seemed like years, Chris had actually had a good night's sleep. He knew it when he gained consciousness and felt the relaxation in his usually tensed up muscles, and the way his heart beat slowly and steadily, breaking the silence in his room.

There was no fear, no emptiness or that crushing weight on his chest. There was only contentment and warmth.

There was no death and darkness, no rotting hands reaching for his screaming loved ones, or for him. There was only—

_Wesker._

He had dreamt about Wesker. And that was why he felt so at peace…

Chris sat up straight in his bed and smacked himself on the metal underside of the bunk bed above him.

Wait. Bunk bed?

"What the—?" The brunette felt so spooked that for a moment he forgot about the pain and ended up rolling off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thud. Rubbing his head and wincing at the bump that was sure to rise, Chris scanned the strange white room suspiciously and stiffened when he saw someone standing in the corner closest to a small square window, watching him…

… with his eyes hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses that only one person Chris knew would wear even indoors.

"Wesker." Chris's voice was a mixture of shock and fear as he looked upon his dream from the night before.

Only…Chris was no longer sure if it had all been a dream.

But he knew for sure that he was awake now. And for some reason, Chris couldn't stop the flood of emotions from overtaking him, suddenly making him desperate to prove this was real.

"Hello, dear heart." Wesker greeted him, with a faint smirk. He raised a pale eyebrow as the brunette slowly picked himself up and began to warily make his way towards him. At his words however, he saw Chris stiffen before continuing, determination glinting in sky blue eyes.

"I assume you are now aware you are awake?"

Chris ignored the question and when he was but a yard away from the man who was supposed to be dead, the younger man suddenly ran and swung at Wesker, right arm aiming straight towards the aristocratic looking face. Wesker ducked quickly however, and without pausing, rose up just as fast to deliver a powerful right hook to Chris's jaw, causing the brunette to stumble back a couple of paces.

For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing as Chris rubbed his bruising jaw, shocked eyes trained on the still blonde who continued to watch him.

"Well?" Wesker asked, his smirk growing.

"Yeah," Chris nodded, still trying to control his breathing. Part of him was still fixated on the possibility that this was all an illusion, but the larger, more hopeful part of him had understood the truth the moment that pain had been delivered.

"I'm awake." Chris said and dropped his hand down from his aching jaw. His eyes widened as the knowledge sunk in and finally made its complete impact on the former marksman.

"Ow." He glared at Wesker, his hand returning to lightly touch his forming bruise. "Did you have to hit me that hard?"

"I was merely defending myself." Wesker told him and crossed his arms. "I highly doubt you intended on being gentle yourself, Christopher."

Chris snorted. "More gentle than you. You were always a jerk."

"And you were always a fool."

"Shut up." Chris yawned and rubbed his free hand across his face. The insults were lighter than they usually were, and part of Chris was relieved. There was no need to get into a full blown fight in an enclosed space right now, especially since Wesker seemed to be completely healthy and well rested and Chris…well, Chris was pretty sure he had a concussion.

So did Wesker. The blonde knew that this was the third blow to the younger man's head, the first he guessed was from when Chris fell off the bed in the beginning and ended up on the floor when they first met. A concussion was almost certain for the former Alpha marksmen, and the bleeding gash on his forehead needed treatment.

"Hold still." Wesker ordered and briskly crossed the couple of feet between them and changed it to inches as he came to a standstill in front of Chris. Chris tried to ignore the urge to back away but lost when Wesker's hands reached for his forehead and slender fingers pressed into tender skin.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Chris bit his lip as pain throbbed from the touch. He tried to step back but the sudden steel like grip on his shoulders kept him in place.

"I said, hold still." Wesker said sharply. "I want to see how bad your injury is."

"Am I bleeding?" Chris asked, trying to distract himself from how close they were standing. He managed to keep the wincing to a minimum, not wanting to allow Wesker to see any more weakness on his part…not if last night had actually happened.

Silence met his question and while it didn't necessarily mean that it was a bad thing, Chris had a difficult time imagining that it was a good thing either. Though at the moment, maybe it was. If anything, the quiet gave Chris a chance to fully digest the fact that Wesker was alive.

_Alive._

The right thing to do was to back away and kill Wesker again, and make sure he'd _stay _dead this time around. But the night before kept on resurfacing, throwing Chris off, because that night, those short moments revealed Wesker's death for what it was…the worst thing that Chris had ever had to go through.

And Chris would have given anything for that night to happen again.

The same cool scent comforted him, the same warmth tempted him to lean forward and sink into the hard toned body that seemed impossible to destroy, even when submerged in burning lava. Perhaps it was because Albert Wesker was like lava himself, awesome in all of its fiery glory, but dangerous and deadly to anyone caught in its blazing depths.

"Don't fall asleep." Wesker's sharp order stirred Chris from volcanoes and memories best left forgotten. Funny, memories that seemed too painful to even think about now felt almost bearable again.

"I wasn't." Chris said, voice distant. "I was just…" Blue eyes were far away when the blonde man gazed into them. A faint frown lingered on Wesker's lips when he saw the distance, but it vanished when he heard the cell door buzz.

The warmth and light touches disappeared almost immediately. Chris's clouded eyes cleared in time to see Wesker lounge against his corner just as the door slid open. A cart similar to the ones used for hotel room service rolled in, oiled wheels running smoothly across the linoleum floor. Its driver was a red haired man wearing an all black uniform, with a teardrop emblem on the breast of his long sleeved shirt.

Silence hung thick in the air, as if no one was willing to break it. Both Wesker and the redhead seemed completely at ease, but Chris was feeling more uneasy with every passing second. Something about the man looked familiar, and dread struck him whenever Chris's eyes lingered for more than a second on the blue emblem.

Finally, after what seemed like minutes (but was actually thirty seconds), the redhead spoke.

"Good morning." He greeted cheerfully, with a nod towards Wesker and Chris.

"Good morning." Wesker said, voice devoid of emotion.

Chris nodded in return, and a thought that he never thought was possible hit him. _Was Wesker a prisoner here, too?  
><em>

What was this place?

The man turned to his cart and took two white trays out. He handed one tray to Wesker and the other to Chris, where he could see generous portions of hash browns, pancakes and eggs. The man bent down to a shelf underneath the top of the cart and came back up with two coffees in Styrofoam cups with a straw, sugar and cream in packets.

It wasn't exactly luxury or a Continental breakfast, but Chris took it gratefully. Somewhere during this whole mess, he had regained his appetite, and food was exactly what he needed. As he tucked in with the plastic utensils he found lying across the tray, Wesker raised a single pale eyebrow at the redhead.

"Adrian is still working on getting approval for the table and coffeemaker." The younger man told Wesker, almost apologetically. "But the chairman and head researcher are being difficult."

"That is fine." Wesker said with a nod, but glanced down with concealed disgust at the food nonetheless. "I appreciate that he is trying to make the stay here more…comfortable. Others would not be quite so lenient or helpful."

"He respects you." The redhead replied simply and that was when Chris recognized the name.

_"Adrian."_

_"Yes, Trent?"_  
><em><br>"The prisoner…um…He really doesn't know about Generation?"  
><em>  
><em>"No, Trent, I do not believe so."<em>

_Another voice spoke up, one that was now familiar. "So he doesn't know about…"_

Here, Chris imagined that the head merc had shaken his head.

_"It is to stay this way, until he sees for himself. Otherwise, the meeting will be compromised."_

_"Sir," Chris now recognized the redhead's voice. "Christopher Redfield may already be compromised."._

_"Explain." Adrian ordered and the redhead continued._

_"The files you asked us to gather include recent hospital treatment at the hospital where he is employed." Ted told his boss. "Four months ago he came to the emergency room with massive blood loss due to multiple lacerations on his arms."_

_Silence followed and the redhead rushed to explain._

_"It was done exactly one month after he came back from a mission in Africa, where our newest…acquisition was found."_

_"Ah." An unfamiliar voice said and whistled. "Shit. Does that mean that—"_

_"It means that it is up to our acquisition," Adrian said, placing emphasis on the last word. "To help our friend realize the extent of the situation. Is that understood?"_

_"Yes sir." The other two men chorused._

_"Good." Adrian placed his hand lightly on Chris's neck and Chris knew that the merc would feel the racing pulse there. "Very good." _

"Adrian. He was the one who brought me here, wasn't he?" Chris asked, the memory bringing everything flooding back…the chase, Jean, the message for Claire that he knew would make no sense to her—

And Adrian's words before he lost consciousness…_an old friend, a new enemy.  
><em>

Adrian had always known. And he had been trying to warn him.

Why?

And the redhead, he _knew. _He _knew _about the emergency visit to the hospital.

"_You_." Chris said, his eyes widening. "_You _were part of the team who brought me here."

The man nodded. "It's nice to officially meet you, Chris." He held out his hand, green blue eyes carefully watching the brunette. "I'm Ted McCallister."

They shook hands and when they let go, Ted frowned at the slowly pooling blood on Chris's forehead.

"Do you mind if I take a look at your…wound?" The redhead asked, concern growing in his usually neutral gaze.

"Okay." Chris said easily. It was better than having to deal with Wesker as a doctor, but the disappointment at no more contact with the blonde had the brunette scowling mentally at himself. He kept still as Ted moved closer and carefully checked out the gash on his head, frowning at its size.

"He injured his head on the bunkbed," Wesker said, noticing the frown. "And he has fallen twice off the bed."

"Chris." Ted chided gently. "You need to be careful." He shook his head like a mother hen and Chris felt thrown off by how…_nice _the merc was. It brought him back to Adrian, who while not hesitating to take Jean hostage and drug him, still seemed kind of decent for a merc.

_Who the hell were these guys? _Chris wondered. He stole a quick glance at Wesker and saw no hint of what the blonde thought of the mercenaries. Had he been thrown off by their decency, or had he assumed it was some form of psychological torture, the let's-treat-'em-nice-and-then-screw-them-over kind of deal? _Wesker would know all about that kind of thing. _The brunette mused, but decided that this was actually a welcome change from previous encounters with mercenaries and other bad guys, Wesker included. A _really _welcome change.

"Might as well enjoy it while it lasts." Chris mumbled, surprised by his optimism. _Could it be called optimism?_ He thought offhandedly. _Or just plain not giving a damn?_

_You do give a damn. _Chris's mental voice told him quickly. '_Cause Wesker's here. That's already a step up from before._

_Being kidnapped isn't. _Chris reminded the mental voice.

_It is if it brought you face to face with him again. _The voice continued cheerfully. _And we both know that no one can stop him for too long._

_True._

Chris tried not to dwell to long on what talking to himself this much could mean and thought about what his voice, no _he, _just mentioned. If Wesker really was a prisoner here, then it was more than likely that the blonde would have several ideas on how to break out of here, depending on how long he'd been a prisoner. It couldn't have been too long since he'd been here, not since his 'death', could it? He'd have left a long time ago then.

Unless…Chris remembered looking into grey eyes the night before. The dream night. Grey eyes…grey eyes equaled no Uroboros. No Uroboros meant…

_Shit. If he's been here all this time and hasn't left then it's because he really can't. _Chris felt dread settle over him like a rain cloud ready to burst into torrents of ice cold hell.

Oblivious to the thoughtful brunette, Ted continued talking to Wesker about checking up on Chris every couple of hours so he could take some painkillers. The former Tyrant was more observant however, and watched the rapid change of emotions on the brunette's face. That was not a good sign, and somehow, perhaps from years of knowing Redfield, Wesker knew that he was in for a lengthy question and answer session with Chris as soon as Ted left. And knowing Chris, Wesker was certain that it would all be questions pertaining to subjects he had no desire to discuss. Maybe if he talked about how he arrived here Chris would stop bothering him for a while. He had always been easily entertained with a story…

Ted saw Chris frowning at nothing in particular and the concern grew. Yep, reading all those medical records had not done too many wonders for his already paranoid stance on patients.

"I'll bring some painkillers for you in a moment." The redhead said, returning his attention to Chris. "Do you have any other injuries that you need me to check out, perhaps in private?"

Chris shook his head, feeling weird about the question. It reminded him of the full length exam he had undergone that night at the hospital, after the obvious injuries were taken care of, of course. And even when no new ones had been discovered, he had still been put under observation for two more nights, as well as suicide watch…The stupid doctor hadn't believed him when he told him that no, he hadn't been taking a blade to his arms like some stupid addict. He was better than that. He had more _control _than that over himself.

_And yet you almost died. _His inner voice murmured.

_Shut up._

But there was no way that Ted could know, not unless he had gone through his medical records…or taken a good look at his arms and noticed the very faint scars…

Fuck.

Wesker watched the uncomfortable look that bordered on panic on Chris's face and made a mental note to ask about it later.

"Well in any case, you'll have to go through a full length exam later," Ted said, and not a hint of whether he believed Chris showed up on his face. "Standard procedure."

"Then why the hell did you ask if I had something now?" Chris snapped. _Don't look at Wesker. _He thought desperately, willing his subconscious to obey too. _Don't let him know that there's something to hide. _"It's not like I was hurt recently or anything, just drugged no thanks to you."

Relief flashed across the medic's face. "I'm glad." Ted said, and actually sounded sincere enough to cause Chris to have a mini flash of guilt. "I hate giving anyone too many sedatives, but orders are orders." The worry didn't fade completely however. "And I only asked in case you fell or became hurt during the, ah, chase. You might feel dizzy from the sedatives or from the concussion, in which case I'd prefer if you lied down for a while."

Chris shook his head. "I'm fine."

Ted nodded. "Okay." Again, no hint of whether or not he believed Chris.

Wesker sure as hell didn't. He didn't believe either one of them and his curiosity was rising with every passing lie. It seemed as if he now had questions of his own for his cellmate. Last night had already told him that Chris wasn't exactly stable anymore.

"Was Adrian in charge of surveillance last night?" Wesker asked, deciding to get down to business, and received a nod from the redhead.

Adrian had told Ted to answer any questions that Albert Wesker asked and he had understood it was done as a sign of trust, on his boss's part. It was a gamble, but Adrian believed that it would make the blonde man more cooperative during his stay at the facility. Although…Ted wasn't sure why Wesker would care about who was in charge of surveillance. Though seeing as how Wesker now had a cellmate, it might now become relevant. How? Ted wasn't sure. But he knew that Albert Wesker did not ask useless questions. And he knew for sure that having to share a cell with someone he had a long history with would change things as well.

For the better or worse, now _that _was a good question.

"I'll be back," Ted promised Chris with a kind smile. "Try not to hurt your head again. Or anything else." Sea colored eyes landed on the darkening bruise on the brunette's jaw and narrowed in disapproval at the blonde man casually sipping his coffee.

Chris nodded, and as soon as Ted left the room he glared at Wesker. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

Wesker only smirked and took another sip of his coffee and Chris decided to address his need for food and quiet his complaining stomach by digging in. The food really was okay, or maybe it just seemed that way after hours of not eating. Besides, Chris knew he would need the energy for a long conversation he intended on having with one Albert Wesker who was no longer deceased.

"Hope you're up to it." Chris muttered and at the glance the blonde man gave him, he smirked and took another gulp of his coffee.

It was really good coffee.

**Whew! Boy, was this chapter hard to write. I kinda get jittery when it gets to Wesker and Chris interaction, even though it's fun to write. Hope they weren't too OoC. Still getting used to the swing of things and I hope you'll all have the patience and see the small improvements. (glances worriedly into empty coffee cup) I am improving, right?**

**(Rolls eyes at low self-esteem) Anyway…THANK YOU ALL so much for your support! For reading, for reviewing, for putting this story in alerts and all that whatnot. It means so much to me and it's one of the reasons for why this story continues to breathe.**

**I may or may have not mentioned this before, but this story will be long, so I will take my sweet time unfolding the plot and whatnot. I will finish it, so have patience, and hopefully we'll all have fun on this insane road to who knows where! :)**

**Hm…well, glad I drank that coffee. Gets me through a helluva lot of writing blocks, and so does Deathnote music. Go Nightmare! Until next time (waves lighter to Nightmare's "The World") bye bye! :)**


	8. Chapter 7: Almost There

**AN: There are no words. I, dear readers am appalled at how long it has taken me to upload this, APALLED. Please don't hate me…hate real life, and seriously, now I get why it takes people so long, hell I'm still in high school, but the college kids? Hell.**

**Anywho, in order to prevent such atrocities from happening again, I have posted this chapter, with another one in the works. Yay for backup!**

**Anyway, here's Chapter 7! Whoo! I can't believe I'm here already! Seems like just yesterday, I posted up the Prologue…not something months ago…**

**Disclaimer: If this were a parallel universe, Wesker would be a new god and I would own Resident Evil and its characters. But nooo, it's the old regular universe, so none of it is mine…dang it.**

**Chapter Seven:**

**Almost There**

"So…" Chris put down his cup of coffee on the floor next to him. Shortly after Ted had left, the brunette had slid down to the floor and had eaten most of his breakfast that way, oblivious to or just ignoring the scathing look that the blonde man had given him.

After another long silent moment, the brunette tried again. "So…" And taking a cue from a prison show or movie, "How'd you end up here?"

Wesker ignored him and continued sipping his drink.

Chris raised an eyebrow. No need for him to guess what the silence met. How else were they going to catch the Tyrant than by taking him at his most vulnerable? Was he even conscious when they took him? Chris wondered.

"It's not your fault," Chris finally tried, wincing at how stupid he was sure to sound right about now. "You fell in a volcano….and got RPG'd."

Wesker finally turned his bored looking face to his former subordinate, the amusement at the attempts to 'cheer him up' masked by the dark sunglasses.

"I do not want to talk about it." The Tyrant said coolly and saw a glimmer of defiance in the younger man's eyes. It was partly for that reason that he gave such a response, to see some life return to the former marksman's face, the fire and energy that had attracted Wesker to Chris in the first place.

That, and…well, it had been a while since he had someone to torture.

"I'll tell you if you tell me." Chris offered and Wesker rolled his eyes, though of course no one would see.

"And just why do you believe I'd be interested in your trip here, Christopher?" Wesker drawled, setting his empty plate and cup on the trolley that Ted had left behind.

Chris shrugged, his expression quickly becoming downcast. "Yeah, makes sense." Chris stared down into his empty cup, as if it would provide some comfort at the moment and Wesker, before the blonde knew what he was doing, was sighing, and crossing the room to stand next to the sitting man. Seconds later, Wesker saw Chris stay very still as the Tyrant slid down to sit next to him.

Wesker didn't like the way Chris had given in so easily, had quieted do quickly at what was once a normal comment, not even an overly biting one, which bothered him for some inexplicable reason…perhaps not so inexplicable if Wesker were to truly think about it.

Someone had broken Chris Redfield, something had happened to him since the last time they had fought to now.

All Wesker knew that it wasn't him who had done the honors, and it bothered him. And made him smoulder with the desire to hunt down the person who had broken his favorite toy. Only he had the right to touch what was his…

Chris is mine. The thought made Wesker glance over at the suddenly to quiet man and the blonde sighed.

"We both know that the only reason why you end up in these types of situations is because of your damned Redfield heroism, Chris." Wesker said, breaking the silence. "It was either that or your stupidity, though admittedly more often that not, it is a combination of both." At the tinge of red on the brunette's ear tips the blonde smirked.

"What I would like to know however," Wesker added, "Is how you spent the last couple of months after our last…meeting. I have heard that you no longer work for the BSAA."

Chris' head snapped up to stare at his ex-captain. "Where'd you hear that?" he demanded, sounding shocked and Wesker shook his head, a mocking smile on his lips.

"You don't truly expect an answer to that, do you Chris?"

The brunette shook his head, muttering 'bastard' under his breath.

"So you do not deny it?" Wesker pressed.

"Why would I?" Chris mumbled, placing his arms around his drawn up legs, crumpling in on himself, a curious move, to Wesker.

"It's not like you're ever wrong, anyway."

At that Wesker tilted his head to the side, wondering just what the former Alpha marksman was thinking. Now and then, even he would be surprised on occasion by Chris' thinking, on the times it was deep and analytical, too mature for his years.

_"Captain." Chris' voice was concerned at how quiet the blonde had become that day, more so than usual._

_"Yes, Chris?" Wesker's voice was only slightly tinged by weariness, and a blonde head rose from a pile of paperwork that was much higher than usual. "I'm busy, so kindly make it brief."_

_The brunette watched his captain's eyes flicker to a thick stack of forms just underneath his unfolded hands and shrugged._

_"Need help?" He asked and couldn't help but grin at the wary look that now flashed across the older man's face._

_"And why would you extend your help, Christopher?" the Alpha captain asked slowly, grey eyes (he had taken off his shades) hard and scanning the marksman for ulterior motives. "You are aware of the lack of monetary compensation."_

_It was a warning, in case Chris Redfield was that big of an idiot, because sometimes-even Wesker wondered…_

_Chris shrugged again, a grin easily falling into place on his ruggedly handsome face. A young face, a lively face that held no shadows, unlike the countless wraiths at Umbrella. "Why not, Captain? It's a nice day and paper is paper."_

_"I don't quite follow, Redfield."_

_The brunette chuckled. "You look as if those forms were serial killers or contaminated with something. Maybe if I helped out a little, they'd go back to just being paper again."_

_Wesker raised a pale eyebrow. "I…see."_

_Chris smiled, and something in his bright blue eyes made Wesker pay closer attention, to the sudden drop in depth those eyes took._

_"I'd take paper over serial killers any day," Chris said, surprising the older man. "I mean, I love the action, don't get me wrong, and I'll never be some paper pusher, but…" he looked away, down the hall to the warm voices of other employees within the police department as they went about their daily routine. "Sometimes…it's better. When the worst thing in a day is a mountain of papers and not some sick psychopath that's out killing innocent people. It'll happen sooner or later, something big and bad will fall on our heads, but for now, this is the worst we've got, and hell, I'll take it."_

_Silence met his speech and the brunette flushed and returned his eyes to his captain._

_"You are never to repeat this, Christopher, or I will destroy you," Wesker warned him and the markman nodded earnestly._

_The blonde man sighed and looked down the same hall that Chris had and something in that gaze seemed almost wistful to the younger man._

_"Sometimes…I too, am glad, that the worst thing, the most annoying thing in a workday is a mountain of paperwork and a dunderhead, not a mass murderer."_

_Chris' cheeks and ears took on an interesting red tinge and the blonde barely restrained the smirk at the younger man's embarrassed response._

_"The worst has yet to come, Chris," Wesker said softly and Chris felt the importance, the heaviness of those words without exactly knowing why. "But for now, this is enough. It'll do."_

_It was one of the first times, the few times that they had ever agreed on something. And it was one of the few things that connected them, a preference for some peace now and then, at least before the shit really hit the fan._

"How did you even survive?" Chris asked, his voice distant as if he to had relieved a memory. "There was so much…and I went back so many times…"

Wesker decided not to comment on that small piece of information and saved it for later for further analysis. Besides the younger man's obsession with being thorough, Wesker sensed another sort of reasoning behind Chris' search.

"Part of me still thinks this is some twisted dream and any second, I'll wake up, alone and facing 'normal civilian' life." Chris muttered and barked out a bitter laugh. "As if that ever worked."

"And why has it not?" Wesker asked, genuinely curious.

Chris turned to him, and the blonde saw the haunted expression in those once clear, bright eyes.

"This is all I know, Wesker," Chris said, his voice quiet, subdued. "This is all I have left, memories of hell from bioterrorism and the fucking undead, of STARS, of you. I'm supposed to sleep at night with some normal civilian at my side and pretend it never happened, that it never affected me?"

Wesker didn't say anything and Chris shrugged. "I'm not telling you anything until you spill something, Wesker." Chris said, voice firm. "I've got nothing to lose besides my life, and that's probably gonna go in a day or two."

"There's no need for the dramatics, Christopher," Wesker said with a weary sigh. "And I suppose I can indulge you as long as you return the favor."

At the single nod, Wesker leaned back on his section of the wall, shade covered eyes taking in the white ceiling and replacing it with the clear, sharp blue of Africa.

**AN: Well there you go. Not too exciting, but not exactly a useless chapter either. I got to become one with the guys again, and you dear reader, know that I am still alive and so is this story.**

**So until next time, one week from now (in theory, crosses fingers) see ya! And a kind word, review, some sign from you guys will as always, be appreciated and loved. :)**


	9. Chapter 8: African Memory Part 1

**AN: *Calmly drinks coffee and pretends to ignore glares* Greetings, my friends. It has been a long *cringes* time. And I am so so so so so so sorry! So sorry it's ridiculous the level of guilt that's swamping me right now even as I type this because ah! It's been way too long, so long people reading this will be like, who are you again?  
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**Sigh. I have my reasons for being out so long, it's been rough going for me, and yet I'm here now with another chapter, and to tell you that yes, I am seeing this story through to the end. I owe it to not only me as a writer, and Wesker and Chris, but to you, my awesome possum readers who have so supportive. :) I won't go into much more details about why I have been gone for so long, you can check out my profile to learn about that because well, I don't want to make this author's note too long and well, that's something that I think will be better off on my profile.  
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**I've missed you guys, and I've missed my story. I know some of you have missed it to and your reviews me so much to me. So...before we start. This chapter, and the next two will be...weird. It's been a while and I'm still getting into the swing of things, and Wesker, well, getting into his head is really, really hard for me. I mean, I'm evil and have planned world domination myself but we're no two peas in a pod. XD**

**Please bear with me, I feel as if I changed somehow, as a writer, so we'll both be weirded out together, High School Musical style! *shakes head* I need a drink.  
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**Disclaimer: It is because of coffee that I can say this at all, I do NOT own Resident Evil, the characters...anything to do with it except my plot and Adrian and the Three Ts. So without further ado, off we go!  
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**Chapter Eight: **

**African Memory**

Part 1

When he had awoken at first though, the sky was ashen, storm clouds that were in reality ash clouds blocked out any meager warmth the sun could offer when compared to the volcano. Wesker had no idea exactly how it was that he had emerged from his complete immersion in the burning lava. He could only recall the dim sensation of a presence in his mind, demanding movement, which his body quickly followed.

And so he had swam, waded up from the dark depths of the damn volcano that had dared to become his burial ground, the screaming fire attempting to melt his body becoming nothing more than a slight pressure on his body as it rose to the surface.

And then he was free of the hold death had attempted to restore over him, and oxygen, tainted with smoke and ash as it was, filled his lungs which inhaled it with sweet relief.

And after Wesker crawled onto dry, sturdy ground and collapsed onto it, numb and gasping for breath like a newborn or a barely revived drowned man, he realized that once again, he, Albert Wesker had been reborn.

In his mind's eye, Wesker could imagine the detestable Redfield and his lackeys celebrating inside the helicopter he'd almost sunk into the depths of the volcano. A violent flash of hatred, _loathing_, for his former subordinates caused Wesker to forget the pain that still gripped him, lapsing into a muted pained pulse as the Tyrant's mind flickered through images of various deaths he had planned for them all.

It was only a flash, it could only be a flash, for there were more pressing concerns at the moment.

He was naked for one, and while the extreme heat radiating from the rock surface he rested upon did not hurt him, it would hardly do as a shelter. A search team would undoubtedly arrive soon and sweep for any remains they thought would surface and staying there, outstretched on the ground was worse than a neon sign.

Though the chances were slim to none that Wesker would find any suitable clothing at the nearest village, if in fact, there was one nearby this cursed volcano, he decided that for the moment, this was the task he would set his yet awakening mind to for a while. He was loathe to admit it, but the blond was in some stage of shock after that final battle. There were so many questions, possibilities, theories roaring in his mind, not to mention those detestable _emotions _that had overwhelmed him when he was injected with the overdose.

Pain, obviously, was another companion, not only inside his mind but all over his body as well.

Wesker stared up at the smoke trailing into the sky as he willed all the noise in his head to cease, to fade back into the background of his mind, locked away until the right moment when he could examine exactly when everything began to go wrong (and no, it would have to be much more specific than Chris Redfield merely arriving in Africa to stop him), and how it had led to his 'demise'. There was no time for dwelling on mistakes, no time to plan his vengeance, no time to dwell on the exact moment when Christopher Redfield had touched him for the last time, body behind him, restraining him with hard muscles that trembled (whether out of fear or adrenaline, Wesker was not certain), or the last time they had locked gazes, seconds before the RPGs were fired.

Yes. No time to question his own reaction at the look of pure agony in those sky blue eyes right before he delivered his atrocious finishing line.

_You are doing a poor job of clearing your mind, Albert. _Wesker's subconscious murmured and the blond man's jaw clenched, but allowed the intrusion in the whirlwind that was now his mind. He may have been willing to deceive the entire world around him, but it would be lethal to do the same to himself.

He had learned that lesson the hard way back in—

_Enough! Stand up, and __**walk**__. Walk away from this tomb before it becomes yours permanently. Before you truly die the death only a worthless, pitiful human deserves. _

When had Wesker's mental voice become so…demanding? In fact, when it had become more of a presence, sounding younger, more emotional, so…present?

Yet another question he would have to stow away for future dissection. But for now…Wesker rose to his feet with none of the elegance he once possessed, stumbling to his feet, his body aching, wanting to succumb to the need for rest but refused to do so when everything was uncertain, especially his survival despite just having survived a volcano and a Redfield.

Wesker turned to face the bubbling pool of liquid fire below him. It was so sluggish moving, yet its heat oozed death, promised the most painful of endings to any who fell into its embrace. Even the air around it, so dry it made breathing almost impossible, appeared to be but the aura around the reaper that was the volcano.

And for a couple of seconds, it _had_ succeeded in taking Albert Wesker.

And somehow, he had broken free of its clutches and had returned to the world. To life. To his ruin, it would seem like, but like his subconscious had suggested, there was no time for that now. Wesker would worry about salvaging what he could from this latest venture, but for now…

Thin lips lifted into a smirk at the sight of the volcano that had come so close to trapping him forever within its fiery depths. Without another word, the voices in his head now silenced (temporarily, he knew), Wesker turned his back on yet another grave and walked away.

**AN: Yeah. Told ya so. Now I don't know how hard it is for everyone else to write Wesker here, I mean, I looked back at chapter four, Illusion, my favorite and still wonder how that happened. :) Anyway, it is so great to be back, and hope everyone else enjoyed it, kinda liked, this update. For any newcomers, hiya and hope you like this so far, for old friends, you are awesome possum for still being here with me :)**

**Reviews, likes, faves and all that are always welcomed and much appreciated. Until next time, next Sunday, *waves* bye bye!  
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	10. Chapter Nine: African Memory Part 2

**AN:**** Good gods. It's been a long time, everyone. Such a damn long time, and I can't apologize enough. A lot has gone on in my life throughout these past several months, a lot of changes, a lot of bad. :/ Even now as I'm writing this author's note I know I'm not in a good place, mentally and emotionally, but...I made a promise folks. A promise to finish this story, and I will, somehow. Because looking back on all of your lovely reviews and my written chapters, I realized I created something that made me happy, that put me in a good place for a while before I had to go back to real life. These characters, this _FANDOM _has made dealing with the crap in my life easier, and so have the other fandoms because we're all passionate about something.**

**So, I'm going to finish this story. It may take a while and I might be pretty rusty for a while but lol, for those who will travel on this road with me, I welcome and thank you and love you for it. Thank you for your patience, and your support.**

**Ah, and this chapter I wrote a while back but never posted for some reason or other.**

**Warnings: ****Rusty writing, rusty writing...  
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**Disclaimer:*****sniffle* I don't own Resident Evil or any of these guys, except for my OCs. **

Hours passed. Wesker knew because the African heat had faded as the sky darkened, but without the sun's position, for of course it had to be obscured by clouds, the wandering man had no way of determining exactly how much time had passed.

But at the very least, Wesker had finally arrived at the outskirts of one of the villages, abandoned of course, courtesy of the Majini and even more recently, Chris. The fact that Wesker was now strolling through the very place that the BSAA agent and his partner had ran through with desperate speed and unrelenting gunfire was…strange, to say the least. Ironic, in that it was his former marksman that allowed him to walk safely through the village ruins, but still strange.

_Ah, the past. How often do you allow yourself to immerse yourself in those memories? _There it was again, that voice. Young, amused. Curious. It was irksome.

_Not quite as often as our marksman, that is for certain, but you must admit…there is a certain allure to walking down memory lane. When there was a possibility that it could have been you running down these streets with him at your side, as partners. _

"You realize it was I who created this?" Wesker lifted an eyebrow, scanning said streets that were now directly in his path as he was now inside the village. Now, where could he find some decent clothing? And weapons. Water, should of course have been his priority but with his strength and speed diminished, his thirst would have to wait to be dealt with at a later date.

_…__you were inside a __**volcano**__. You're __**dehydrated**__._

"This area is not secured." Wesker muttered, feeling his body tense. "Perhaps the village is not so safe after all."

_…__would it honestly kill you to take care of your own needs, your actual physical needs instead of your paranoia? Dehydration is the enemy, if on the very slim chance you are indeed attacked, you will stand a much better chance of survival hydrated and more lucid than you are right now. _

"I will not be any more lucid if I continue conversing with you," Wesker muttered and glared straight ahead, feeling his fists clench at his sides. The heat was fading, but it was still affecting him much more than it should, coupled with his dehydration that he was all too aware of, he really wouldn't last long in a fight, if there was one. Or, to be more accurate, flight.

Not to mention, the voice in his head. He would call it his subconscious except it. Did. Not. Sound. Like. Him.

Too human. Too young. Much too expressive.

But, not a complete idiot.

So Wesker mentally shifted his list around of necessities and headed towards the many huts lining the dirt streets and entered one that appeared marginally less ransacked than the others. He was greeted with the sight of overturned tables and chairs as well as crates, some smashed to pieces, and one that was actually whole. The lid surprisingly, had been removed, and when Wesker peered inside, he was greeted with the sight of plastic. Clear. And white.

"Water bottles and a first aid kit." Wesker murmured, and his eyes narrowed. "Just lying around?"

_…__too good to be true. _

"Agreed."

_If this were a horror movie…or a video game…_

Wesker didn't bother to snort in derision at the childish comparison because there wasn't any time. The sharp breeze of a blade cutting through air and the scent of advanced decomposition had barely been enough of a warning to allow Wesker to throw himself to the side, roll to the wall and stand up just as fast, gritting his teeth as the world spun around, and the large blurry shape in front of him doubled and then lost its twin when his vision cleared.

_Well, fuck._

Wesker completely agreed with his mental voice's statement.

Standing right in front of him, was one of the Majini.

The crate was smashed to pieces, wood had been sent flying everywhere as the weapon had cut into it with brute force. A dead hand took hold of the handle of the axe and lifted it, and turned towards Wesker.

"How did you first official meeting go?" Adrian asked, causing his subordinate to briefly pause at the entrance to his office, the facility's clinic and then sigh.

"Fine," Ted muttered, willing his heart beat to slow down. _You would've thought I'd be used to him popping up to ask for updates by now. _He thought, still uneasy about the whole scene with Chris Redfield and Albert Wesker. It had nothing to do with how obvious it was that the two were at it like bickering children, always resulting in a scuffle or an exchange of insults, but more with the fact that there was a storm just waiting to roll in and complicate things between the two former STARS members.

Even further.

Albert Wesker was a highly intelligent and manipulative man. Ted had read the Kijuju report, had known that to have gotten Excella Gionne involved, not only would her belief that she would gain from such a partnership would have to be absolutely certain, but she would have had to be certain that Wesker was capable of emotion. He had emotionally manipulated her, for why else would such a powerful woman have stayed at his side, dutifully injecting him with the serum if not under the delusion that he trusted her, perhaps even had feelings for her other than perhaps lust, if even that was possible?

Ted had seen the familiar interaction between both men in the cell, had felt the intensity of grey eyes as Ted touched Chris. Perhaps it should have made Ted feel better, made him believe that maybe Chris' mental and emotional health would perhaps improve now knowing that his former captain was alive, but…

The scars. The shattered man. If Wesker was not careful, if Wesker proved Ted and Adrian wrong and did in fact seek to destroy Chris any further then—

Ted swallowed. He would have just sentenced an innocent man to a slow and painful death.

"Ted?" Adrian's concerned voice broke through the cloud of worry that the redhead engulfed himself in. Blue green eyes met icy blue and looked away.

"Ted," Adrian pushed off from where he had been perched on the medic's desk and stopped in front of him, catching the war of emotions in eyes that were like the sea. A calm sea, more often than not. But right now…

"I wonder," Ted said, after a moment, refusing to meet the gaze of his superior. "I wonder if I was wrong to allow this to happen?"

"Did something happen?" Adrian asked gaze sharpening, body tensing ever so slightly and then Ted glanced up and shook his head.

"A scuffle. Nothing serious but it just hit me, Adrian." Ted steeled himself and continued. "I left an emotionally shattered man who attempted suicide in a cell with Albert Wesker. The Albert Wesker who was his former captain, had fought with on more than once occasion, the Albert Wesker who with anyone who joins forces with him, ends up dead. And these people were much more emotionally stable than the man whose medical records I looked through."

"I just—" The medic shook his head. "If something happens to Christopher Redfield, something I could have prevented." He took a deep breath. "I don't think I'd ever forgive myself."

Throughout the speech of the normally quiet man, Adrian felt himself waver between how much to tell Ted about the situation, the true extent of it. It was only a matter of time before Ted figured it out for himself anyway, but still. He was upset, that much was clear, with himself, with Adrian too, though of course the medic would never admit to it.

"Things…are not what they appear to be." Adrian said finally, after more silence. "There is a lot that we do not know, that not even Christopher Redfield's loved ones know about his past in regards to Albert Wesker."

Something flickered in Ted's eyes, but Adrian could not identify the exact emotion, could not pinpoint that moment when everything had clicked into place because it had failed to, not when Ted saw his patient as that, a patient.

And Albert Wesker and the one who led his patient to being one in the first place.

It was times like these, when Ted displayed such protectiveness over his patients that had Adrian wondering how it was that the redhead was here with them in the middle of a highly illegal operation and not working in a hospital saving more lives…a topic that no one in the group touched on, nor on any of their previous lives.

"If I was certain that Chris was in life threatening danger by being in close quarters with Wesker," Adrian said quietly, and Ted's eyes widened. "I would never have allowed them to stay in the same cell. Please believe me, Ted."

Ted nodded and swallowed. Adrian looked so sincere, so earnest to reassure him that once again, he looked away, reminding himself that the man before him was his captain, goddamnit.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat and headed towards his desk to get started on paperwork due next week that was suddenly the most important task in the world. "I have faith in you, Adrian. Always."

And behind him, blue eyes sparked at those words and quickly resumed their usual amused expression. It wouldn't do after all, to allow his subordinate to know how much those words meant to him.

**Weirdness and still more weirdness. But still, I will march on, lol. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading and until next time! *waves***


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